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No. 61.-0CT0BER 1, 1890. 

Copyrighted, 1890, hy Street t£ Smith. 

Entered at the Post-Offiee, New York, as Seeoiid- Class Matter, 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE; 

OR, 

Cecy Morgan’s Trial. 


BY 


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THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE ECHACONNEE TRAGEDY. 

About the middle of autumn one can find few 
climates more agreeable than that of the middle 
counties of Georgia and Alabama. During the day 
the air is warm and pleasant ; a soft, purplish haze 
hangs over the landscape; and the evenings are 
superb. 

Italy cannot boast of more gorgeous sunsets than 
those of the Georgian middle counties. The twilight 
is long, and blends slowly with the moonlight, 
which silvers the sandy soil and sets out the dark 
pines in bold relief. 

Fear the swamps which border upon some creek, 
there is a peculiar and indescribable charm in 
these moonlight evenings. The senses steeped in 
the perfume of roses, mingled with the rarer odor of 
magnolias ; while from the dark woods which skirt 
the silvered cotton-fields come the songs of the 
mocking-bird, as sweet and varied as those of the 
European nightingale. 

But here as elsewhere nature has various moods, 


6 


THE ILLEGAL MAHBIAGE. 


each producing its peculiar effect upon the mind of 
man — each having a marked influence upon even 
the beasts of the field. 

Sometimes the sun goes down a blood-red disk 
behind a vail of purplish-blue haze, in which, an 
hour later, hangs the somber new moon, slowly 
dipping its crescent down toward the pines. The 
air is heavy and still, thousands of frogs make the 
evening melodious with their pipings, while the 
song of the mocking-bird is exchanged for the 
plaintive notes of the whip-poor-will. 

This state of the atmosphere is particularly ob- 
served along the Echaconnee — a stream bordered 
with dank, heavy swamps, home of the alligator 
and deadly moccasin — which runs through, and 
forms a part of the dividing line between the 
counties of Bibb, Crawford, and Houston. At such 
times a presentiment of trouble, or a nameless feeling 
of coming ill, seems to pervade the atmosphere, 
having a wonderfully depressing effect upon the 
mind. 

On a night like this, some few years ago, Mr. 
William Stannard — a man of flve-and-thirty, and a 
large planter in the county of Houston — sat on the 
•veranda of his house, slowly puffing his Havana in 
the shadow of a largo magnolia. Very quiet he sat, 
moving only now and then when he indolently took 
the cigar from his mouth and blew out a long cloud 
of smoke. 

It was a calm and graceful picture which was 
there presented. Perhaps Mr. Stannard— or Colonel 
Stannard as he should be called — was not one who 
would be generally termed “a very handsome man,” 
yet there was something about him which never 
failed to attract a second glance. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


7 


Tall and slight as he at first appeared, the idea of 
latent strength was suggested ; and as one looked 
more closely at his compact frame his shoulders 
seemed to grow in breadth, while a muscular power, 
concealed beneath the lazy grace of his manner, 
became apparent. 

The very idea of placidity seemed to lurk in his 
deep-blue, almost hazel eyes; and a dark-brown 
mustache and imperial covered all the defects of 
outline that there might have been about the lower 
part of his face. His well-shaped hand, small 
enough and white enough for a lady, was a strong 
point of beauty ; but it was muscular as well, and 
had held the sword with which he fought his way 
to a colonelcy and honor. 

As he sat thus, under his own vine and fig-tree, 
his fine appearance, his simple yet costly dress, and 
his placid manner, indicated a man of travel and 
culture as well as a wealthy planter ; and he looked 
like one well satisfied with himself and with the 
world. 

But though seemingly content on this particular 
evening he had to confess that his mind was ill at 
ease, and in vain he tried to assign some good 
reason for his unusual depression. 

A mist was gathering over the valley, and as his 
eyes turned toward the belt of woods which desig- 
nated the line of the Echaconnee, he saw the half 
obscured new moon slowly drooping down behind 
the pines. The stars were hidden, and as the feeble 
light of the moon grew dim the shadows deepened, 
and the fire on his cigar threw fitful circles of light 
around his chair. 

Presently even his cigar was forgotten, and the 
hand which held it fell lightly upon his knee, while 


8 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


his eyes looked vacantly out upon the indistinct 
garden. Fancy had carried away his soul. A vis- 
ion had come to him — a vision of the sweet girl he 
loved, whose lovely dark eyes seemed to be looking 
at him then, and whose fair face, surrounded by a 
halo of light, was perfectly visible to him. 

Cecilia Morgan ! Beautiful Cecy Morgan ! Why 
had she come to haunt him now, when nearly over- 
powered in his struggle to forget her? Had he not 
given her up to another? Had he not long known 
that his was a hopeless love? Had he not fought 
hard to crush the affection for her that he must not 
express? Of the love that nearly conquered him he 
was now thinking, and she was ever there to make 
his struggle all the harder. 

It was useless; he loved her still — loved her 
truly and fondly, but he could never call her — wife. 

Often enough he had brooded over this, and had 
tried to make himself believe that he was reconciled 
to her loss ; but he knew now that he had made a 
failure. He loved her still, and knew now that he 
should always love her, as man loves but once in 
his life. But this was misery now since she was 
betrothed to another. 

‘‘She is there,” he said, aloud, stretching his arms 
towar-d the creek, beyond which Cecy Morgan lived 
with her father. “ She is there, so near me, and yet 
so far away. The distance is widening between us. 
Henceforth I can be nothing to her.” 

What comfort it would have been to this lonely, 
suffering gentleman could he have passed the dis- 
tance between him and the girl he loved, and stood 
invisible in one small chamber there! At that mo- 
ment Cecy Morgan was kneeling beside her bed, 


TUE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


9 


clutching the coverlet in her hands, and — thinking 
of him. 

But a few minutes before she had seen Alfred 
Guerry, the man to whom she was engaged, and 
had now come to pray away the doubts that would 
torture her heart. Even then she was humiliated to 
think that she had failed to win his love. She 
thought that she loved Alfred Guerry, but — ah ! that 
terrible doubt. It was too late now; her promise 
was given ; he could not have loved her ; and she 
would have made Alfred a good wife. 

Could each have known the truth what suffering 
might have been spared. For a long time Stannard 
sat there thinking of her beauty, her grace, all the 
little ways she had that were so charming to him, 
and tried in vain to stifle the pain in his heart. 

Again he wondered at his depression, and en- 
deavored to account for it. 

“Pshaw!” he muttered, rising from his chair, 
“why should I bother my head with thinking! 
What a puny thing is man’s reason — do what we 
may, the length of our tether is soon reached. 
Philip Sidney was right when he said that ‘Reason 
cannot show itself more reasonable than to leave 
reasoning on things above reason.’” 

The air grew damp and heavy. A southerly wind 
was rising, which, sighing through the trees, made 
the night still more uncomfortable. Throwing away 
his cigar after one long puff, he paused to watch 
the parabola of light until it ended in a bed of 
garden violets, and shone like a glow-worm among 
the leaves. 

He retired, but only to find his slumber broken 
and uneasy. A sense of impending ill hung heavy 
on his mind, Throughout the long night, it seemed 


10 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


to him, he was rolling and tossing about, but near 
morning he was suddenly roused with a vague con- 
sciousness that somebody was calling him. 

That it was not a dream he soon learned, for he 
sprang out of bed as he heard a sharp “ halloa” at 
the gate, and a quick “ rat-tat-tat” upon it with a 
stick. 

Throwing up the window he saw through the 
darkness of the morning the dim outline of a man 
on horseback. 

“What is it?” he called, quickly. 

“ Please go up to Echaconnee, sir. The old man 
is ” 

“ A gust of wind slammed the blind in his face, 
and he barely caught the word “doctor,” as the 
horseman disappeared. 

“That was Morgan’s man,” he mused, hurriedly 
throwing on his clothes; “it was Ogletree’s voice — 
I wonder what is wrong on the hill?” 

In less than half an hour he was galloping down 
the road. Passing the last patch of woods his horse 
shied, and on looking around he caught a mere 
glimpse of two men sinking down behind a fallen 
tree. In a second the names of Alfred Guerry and 
old Abner Hawks came into his mind. Was it 
really they? and at such an hour; in such a place? 
He turned his horse quickly into the wood, but 
although a few seconds only had passed there was 
no one behind the tree. 

“It was a mistake,” he said to himself; “and }^et 
I never saw shadows seem more natural. I thought 
Alf would not be here at such an hour.” 

It Avas daybreak when he arrived at Morgan’s 
house, but still dark and stormy. Riding up to the 
gate, he rapped loudly with his stick, and gave the 


THE ILLEGAL MAHIilAQE. 


11 


usual halloa. Half a dozen hounds came growling 
and barking down the yard, and amid the confusion 
a negro woman opened the door. 

“What’s the matter?” Stannard called to her. 

The yelping of the dogs prevented him from hear- 
ing her reply. Throwing the bridle rein over a post, 
he entered the yard, beating right and left among 
the hounds, while the negro laid about her vigor- 
ously. 

Two negro men with rolling eyes and chattering 
teeth were by the hall door, but too much terrified 
to speak. Stannard pushed into the hall, into the 
room to the left, from which he heard cries and 
moans, but his steps were arrested on the threshold. 
He started back with horror at the dreadful sight 
which met his gaze. 

Lying upon the bed shouting or talking incoher- 
ently, and wildly swinging his arms about, was old 
Morgan, his ghastly face covered with blood, his 
hands gashed and bleeding. 

With a quick glance Stannard took in the details 
of the room, observing many signs of a struggle. 
One window was broken, the chairs were in con- 
fusion, the inner door hung by one hinge, while 
spots of blood were plentiful about the floor. 

Squatted in the corners were the house-servants, 
wailing loudly ; and at the foot of the bed kneeled 
tlie old man’s daughter, Cecilia — a girl of one-and- 
twenty, and of uncommon beauty. 

Stannard was shocked at her appearance. For 
one moment she raised her head, but there was no 
look of recognition in her eyes, while her face wore 
an expression that startled him. With clasped hands 
he turned to her for an explanation ; but turning 
her head slowly she again fixed her eyes upon her 


12 


THE ILLEGAL MAERIAGE. 


father. Now and then she caught her breath 
quickly as slie saw the old man clutch at his 
wounds, staining himself still more deeply with the 
blood. 

“Oh, Cecy! for Heaven’s sake tell me — tell me, 
Cecy ! Who has done this — this ” 

He paused abruptly as he saw that she neither 
moved her head nor heard the words, but continued 
to look vacantly upon her father’s face. Seeing the 
terrified condition of all present, he stepped to the 
bedside and caught one of the flying hands. 

“Why, Morgan!” he said, holding fast to the 
hand, “what is the matter with you? Be quiet a 
moment, won’t you?” 

At the sound of his voice, Morgan ceased strug- 
gling and turned his head a little on one side, as if 
trying to catch the tone again. 

“ Don’t you know me, Morgan? Speak to me. Look 
up a little.” 

Slowly the wounded man opened his eyes, but it 
was some time before he seemed to be conscious. 
Stannard spoke again : 

“ My dear old friend ! Do look at me a minute. 
Don’t you know me?” 

The wild eyes turned full upon him now, and a 
look of recognition was apparent. With a few con- 
vulsive pushes Morgan bared his breast, displaying a 
mass of bloody wounds. 

“ See — boy — see, my boy ” 

He gurgled out the words, and looked at Stan- 
nard, who started back at the horrid sight. 

“Good Heaven! Morgan! who has done this? 
Who could have done it?” 

Grasping his throat with one hand and gasping 
for breath, the old man pointed to his daughter. 


THE iLLEQAL MARRIAGE. 13 

She — my boy — she ” 

A rush of blood choked him for a moment, and 
Stannard's eyes followed the gaunt and trembling 
finger. Miss Morgan had raised her head and was 
watching intently. 

“ With the utmost difficulty the old man managed 
to get out the words : 

“She has been my death.” 

Stannard could no longer listen to this incoherent 
talk, for with a wail of despair Miss Morgan fell 
heavily upon the floor. Springing to assist her, he 
pushed violently against Doctor Trippe, who had 
entered the room unheard, and was a silent witness 
of the scene. 

Stannard raised the poor girl in his arrr s and bore 
her from the room. Leaving her with the house 
girls to loosen her dress, after seeing that she had 
revived a little, he returned to find the doctor ex- 
amining the wounds on Morgan’s chest. A glance 
told him that life was extinct. 

“A bad business,” said Trippe, without raising his 
head. 

“Horrible! horrible!” Stannard replied, throwing 
himself down upon a lounge. A feeling of faintness 
seemed to come over him, and in a state of semi- 
consciousness he watched the physician as he 
probed and measured the wounds, recording the 
result in his note-book. 

At length Trippe turned from his work. 

“A sad case, Stannard,” he said, stroking his long, 
black beard; “a sad case; but I feared it some time 
ago.” 

“ It is, indeed, doctor ; but I cannot — I will not be- 
lieve it.” 

Trippe turned his eyes down upon him inquiringly. 


14 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE. 


“Believe what, Stannard? Of what are you speak- 
ing?” 

“You heard what he said. I can never believe that 
she — that Miss Morgan ” 

The sentence was not completed, for Stannard 
sprang to his feet and looked toward the door. 
Trippe turned also, and there before them, looking 
like a ghost or a marble statue, stood Cecilia Mor- 
gan, accused of murder. 

With open eyes which seemed to look through 
them rather than at them, and the steady gaze of a 
somnambulist. Miss Morgan turned to the doctor 
and gently passed her hand across her forehead. 

“Will he die, doctor? Will he die? Oh! doctor, 
please tell me?” 

“My dear Miss Morgan, this is no place for you 
now — come, let me help you back.” 

“But doctor, I want very much to know, for I 
have a particular — a particular ” 

Once more she passed her hand slowly across her 
brow, a gesture that was inexpressibly painful to 
the men before her. 

“Doctor!” she continued, “do tell me— I’ve a very 
particular reason for wishing to know the truth.” 

“Poor girl!” said Trippe, in an undertone, “the 
shock has been too much for her. Her mind is wan- 
dering.” 

They took her. gently by the arms, and, half sup- 
porting her, walked toward the door ; but she saw 
the body, covered over with the sheet, and knew the 
worst. With a touching cry she sank unconscious 
at their feet. 

Once more Stannard carried her out in his arms, 
and, leaving the doctor by her side, ran for water. 
Crowding about the doors were the plantation 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE. 


15 


negroes, uttering their peculiar wail — as terrible as 
that of the Greek weepers, while down on the 
hearth, almost in the ashes, the house-girl crouched 
like a frightened hare. 

“Get up, girl,” he said to her; “get some water 
for your mistress.” 

At the first touch she rolled over and over into the 
middle of the floor. 

“Get up, Isay,” he repeated, sharply; and hear- 
ing a command, the girl sprang to her feet, fright- 
ened and trembling. 

“Get some water for Miss Cecy — quick now.” 

She turned to obey, but in the wrong direction, 
running violently against the table. Stannard saw 
that the girl was bewildered, and spoke still more 
sternly ; but his words had a contrary effect from 
that intended, for her legs gave way beneath her, 
and she tumbled upon the floor. 

“Never mind, girl,” he said, gently, “go back to 
your corner, but don’t get in the Are.” 

He stooped to assist her, but with a few hitches 
she reached the fire-place, rolling up into a ball, 
and covering her head completely. • 

Stannard pushed back the coals, and as he rose, a 
bowl of water was handed him. With it he ran to 
Miss Morgan’s bedside, and was about to sprinkle 
the calm, white face before him, when he was 
stopped by the doctor. 

“Never mind that now,” he cried; “she’s reviving 
a little.” 

Trippe took up a small sponge wet with ammonia, 
and again patted it under her nostrils. With a 
short, convulsive gasp Cecy opened her eyes, a 
sweet smile passing across her face, then closed 
them slowly and wearily. 


16 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


“She’ll sleep some time, I fancy,” said Trippe, 
while he and Stannard were leaving the room. 

Once more they stood over Morgan’s body. The 
doctor took out his note-book. 

“I want to explain to you,” Trippe began, “that 
all Morgan said ” 

A step interrupted the explanation whatever it 
was, and both turned to see Ogletree, the overseer. 

“I came in to see if I could help you any,” he said, 
apologetically. 

“I don’t know as you can, just now,” the doctor 
answered, thoughtfully. “Have you sent for any 
one?” 

“Not directly, doctor; but I saw one of Carrol’s 
boys and told him an accident had happened at our 
house. I didn’t like to tell him the truth about it.” 

“You were right. On second thought, I believe 
you’d better send for some one. Simmons must be 
notified — he’ll have to hold an inquest, you know ; 
and you might ” 

A noise at the gate stopped the doctor’s remark, 
and Stannard walked to the window. 

“Who is that?” 

“Raborn, I think it is,” Stannard replied, “and 
here comes Carrol. Bad news travels fast in the 
country, doctor, however it does it. I don’t think it 
will be necessary to send.” 

“Perhaps not,” Trippe answered, thoughtfully. 
“On the whole, Ogletree, I think you had better 
ride over and see Simmons. Ask him to stop at my 
house when he comes by.” 

Ogletree went out, showing the new comers into 
the dining-room. Stannard joined them and was 
endeavoring to answer their questions when Trippe 
broke in upon the story. 


THE ILLEGAL MAEBIAGE. 


17 


“Carrol!” said he, quickly, “do you know if Sim- 
mons is at home?” 

“Yes, sir; that is he was yesterday. He’ll hear 
of this, I reckon, without sending. One of his boys 
has a wife at my place, and when he went home 
this morning told me he seen you riding by at the 
crack of day. I suspicioned that Morgan was sick, 
so rid over and — ” — 

Trippe turned his back to cut short an interminable 
story, and stood stroking his beard for a moment, 
then went back to the fatal room. Stannard was 
again beginning to tell all he knew, when the doctor 
called him. 

“Oh, Stannard! One moment, please.” 

Trippe was bending over the body at this time, 
the fingers of his left hand in a gaping wound, the 
note-book in his right, and holding a pencil in his 
teeth. 

“I forgot to give you a word of caution,” he said, 
removing the pencil. “There is no curbing gossip, 
and we must say nothing about ” 

A nod toward the opposite chamber completed the 
remark. 

Stannard understood him. 

“ By no means, doctor. Thanks ! I was going to 
say the same to you.” 

“I only feared an inadvertent remark, which a 
word of caution would prevent.” 

Stannard went back to complete the story of the 
murder. That Morgan’s last words were anything 
but insane ravings he did not believe ; but he did 
believe that his good old friend had been foully 
murdered by some miscreant who broke in at the 
window, and hence he now joined heartily in the 
indignation of his neighbors. 


18 


TEE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Despite the hard character that old Morgan had 
borne in the settlement, he had been a second father 
to Stannard, and he now deeply lamented his 
dreadful death. 

One by one the neighbors began to come in. A 
few women arrived, and at once took possession of 
the house. Stannard left them all to their gossip, 
and going into the fatal room, sat down by the fire. 
Presently, Trippe touched him gently. 

“I’m obliged to go back fora time,” the doctor 
said ; “ I was attending Koper’s wife, and had been 
up all night when Olgetree met me. I have to go 
back there now — you can stay?” 

“Yes — that is , I’ll ride home for a few moments 
and come back.” 

“Don’t be long, Stannard, if you can help it. 
We must see to Miss Morgan, you know.” 

The peculiar emphasis gave Stannard to under- 
stand that the doctor meant something more than 
attention to personal wants. 

“Of course we must,” he answered, absently, nod- 
ding his head, “of course — of course.” 

“She’s better now— that is, I can’t say she’s better 
exactly, but she has recovered from her swoon. 
Keep the negroes quiet and we’ll fix it all right.” 

“Yes; we’ll fix it all right,” said Stannard, warm- 
ly, grasping the doctor’s hand. 

Trippe smiled at his manner of seeing it. 

“We’ll fix it— all right! all right!” he repeated in 
the same tone, fancying that the smile referred to 
the secret between them. 

“I believe he’s wandering too,” Trippe said to 
himself, as he crossed the room to where a group 
of men were talking. They opened a fire of ques-, 


THE ILLEGAL MAERIAOE. 


19 


tions upon him. “We’ll fix the inquest at two 
o’clock.” 

“Suppose you make it twelve o’clock if it’s all the 
same to you,” Carrol suggested. 

“Very good; say twelve tlien. I said two because 
T wanted to take a bit of sleep meanwhile ; but no 
matter.” 

“Is the settlement unhealthy, doctor?” 

“ By no means, Carrol — on the contrary, it is un- 
commonly healthy. I was up with Roper’s wife — 
she has a fine boy.” 

“Thus it is,” mused Stannard, as he sat with 
folded arms by the smoldering fire. “Thus it is 
that the young come on the stage and the old step 
from it. This very -idea should make us think how 
small we are and how little we know compared 
with what there is to be known. 

“ As large as this world of ours is, we play our parts 
in a very small drama. Who can tell the future of 
this young actor? Who can tell whether he will be 
a mere supe — like thousands around us — like those 
men standing yonder; whether he will play the 
part of clown, of pantaloon, or harlequin ; whether 
he will wear cap and bells in comedy or carnival ; 
or play in some high tragedy, and end his career 
like that old man lying there.” 

While musing of life in this disconnected and 
rambling manner Trippe had left. Starting after 
him, Stannard reached the door in time to see the 
doctor mount his thoroughbred, which gave two or 
three spirited bounds, then struck out into a swing- 
ing gallop. 

“That horse is too wild for a doctor — even a 
heavy-weight like Trippe,” he said to himself, as 
he turned back to give a few directions ; but he had 


20 THE ILLEGAL MARBIAQ^l. 

been forestalled in this and went out to his own 
horse. 

Down the hill, along the muddy bottom, across 
the bit of corduroy leading to the bridge, he slo'wly 
rode, checking his horse still more as he came to 
the bridge itself. 

“The creek must be rising,” he thought, as he 
noticed the little pools around the cypress roots ; 
and, turning his horse to the right as he came to 
the stream, Staunard looked over to see how high 
the water had already risen. 

As he did so he started back with horror; for 
down there, some four feet below, his feet in the 
water, and his body 'lying across a cotton-wood log, 
was Doctor Trippe. 

It was the work of a moment to spring down from 
the bridge and raise the doctor’s head. His first 
impulse was to feel for the heart. He could detect 
no throb there. Raising the unconscious head a 
little more he rejoiced to feel a faint motion, and 
presently a dull, slow beating of the heart. Stan- 
nard could not repress a cry of joy. 

There was yet hope. For the first time he now 
discovered a deep cut above the right temple. The 
clotted blood and matted hair had formed a com- 
press over the wound ; but a few drops of dark blood 
oozed out upon his breast. 

Stannard turned the helpless head, saw a long 
scratch or bruise along the cheek where it had 
grazed the log. Whether the deeper cut was caused 
by the fall, or was the cause of the fall, he could 
not even conjecture. 

Pulling the body from the water, Stannard 
wrapped his two coats about it, and rode back to 
Echaconnee for help. 


THE ILLEGAL MAtUUAQE. 


21 


Two men were standing upon the porch, and ran 
out to meet him, alarmed at his disordered con- 
dition. 

“For Heaven’s sake, colonel, what is the matter?” 
“Are you hurt?” 

“Come quick!” he answered both, “get some of 
the boys, and come on at once!” 

“But what is it? Blood!” said one, pointing to 
his shirt-front. “Are you hurt, colonel?” 

“No, no, not me — Trippe is murdered!” 
“Murdered!” exclaimed both in a voice, springing 
away quickly enough now to give the alarm. 

“Gome quick!” Stannard called after them. 
“Come to the creek. We may save him yet!” 

The hope of saving him made them fly now, and 
in flve minutes a large party of whites and blacks 
were running down the road. 

Stannard was again bending over the body when 
they came up, and gathered round in silence. 

“I found him so,” Stannard began, pointing to the 
position, “ his feet over there in the water, and his 
head down upon that knot.” 

“His horse may have shied and throw’d him. 
Thar’s no signs of a flght here.” 

“Probably you are right. Barton; wonder what 
could have started him there?” 

“Anything or nothing. The devil’s in that beast 
anyway. Aiken, thar, heered me tell the doctor 
ony t’other day that that horse would be the death 
of him. Don’t you remember, Ira, what I said?” 

“Yes; you said you knew him of old, and ” 

“And I told him about the brute’s throwing a 
man agin the curbstone in Macon, killin’ him ’s 
dead ’s a door -nail.” 


22 


THE ILLEGAL MABIUAGE. 


“Broke his neck short off,” muttered Aiken, in 
response. 

“Come, come, boys!” Stannard interrupted, “bear 
a hand now, and let’s get the doctor to my house. 
Take him up gently, now.” 

They came around, slowly and reverently, and 
stood above the body. 

“You’ll have to use my coats for a litter until I 
can ride home for blankets. Easy, easy with him.” 

Stannard knew that Trippe was insensible to 
pain, but it hurt him to see the helpless head roll 
from side to side, and he threw up both hands as it 
struck the log heavily. 

“Take care there, Dick, what the duse are you 
about. Mind what you are doing,” he said, in no 
gentle tone. 

At length Trippe’s body was in the road, and they 
were fixing him upon the coats for a litter. Stan- 
nard was watching eagerly unaware how he was 
shaking with cold. A boy touched his shoulder, 
and on looking around Stannard saw him shift off 
his warm but well-patched coat. 

“Take it. Mars’ William. Do take it,” the boy 
pleaded, as Stannard pushed it back. “Do take it; 
I can stand de cold better ’n you kin.” 

“No, no, Aleck; keep your coat. Put it on again. 
I can do very well.” 

“ Please take it, marster— I can’t bear to see you 
so.” 

The boy’s earnest face touched him then, and he 
saw that a refusal might be misunderstood. 

“It is better to have any amount of bodily pain 
than to have one’s feelings hurt,” Stannard said to 
himself, as he took the coat; “ but then I fear this 


THE ILLEGAL MAREIAGE. 


23 


boy has not those finer ‘feelings. He means to do 
me a kindness.” 

Stannard saw the body in motion, then rode home 
to rouse his own servants. Collecting a few blankets 
he sent a boy back with them. 

“And there,” he said, stopping the boy until he 
could pull a pair of heavy blankets from his own 
bed, “take these to Aleck.” 

Stannard was ever a kind man to his negroes — to 
any negroes, in fact, and was more cons.ijderate 
about their feelings than about the feelings of many 
white men who assumed to be his equals. 

“These poor fellows have to work hard enough,” 
he was accustomed to say, “and are entitled to my 
consideration. They help to make my money, and 
I am not only bound to provide for them, but to 
respect their feelings.” 

Such sentiments were not generally popular 
among the small farmers ; but he was a rich man, 
and no one dared question his views. 

It was easier work with strong blankets for a 
litter, and in a short time Trippe was lying in bed. 
They poured a few spoonfuls of brandy down his 
throat, and had the satisfaction of finding that his 
heart beat all the stronger for the stimulant. 

“M^eTl take some ourselves, presently,” Stannard 
said, “but first let us think about getting a doctor. 
His wife must be sent for too. Barton, where can 
we send.” 

“Macon’s nighest; but the train has just gone up. 
You might catch the down train for Fort Valley.” 

“That’s true. Barely time for it, though,” he 
answered, looking at his watch. “ I’ll send for Doc- 
tor Pierce.” 


24 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Hastily writing the notes, two boys were sent off 
on these errands. 

Breakfast was ordered and the negroes sent to 
the kitchen. 

Aleck lingered behind the rest. 

“Well?” Stannard interrogated. 

“Here’s your blankets, marster,” the boy said, ex- 
tending them. 

For the first time Stannard remembered that he 
wore the boy’s coat, and promptly took it off. 

“Thank you, Aleck; you did me a service.” 

Aleck took the coat, but still held out the blankets. 

“Keep them; keep them, Aleck. You shall have 
them for being so thoughtful and kind. You see 
one loses nothing by being so, Aleck.” 

A look of pride passed over the boy’s face, but he 
appeared to leave reluctantly. Stannard was lost in 
thought, and stood stroking his mustache when the 
boy again spoke. 

“Mars’ William, I’d ruther you wouldn’t give ’m 
to me for that.” 

“Tut, tut, Aleck, why not? You earned them 
fairly. Remember that one never loses by being 
kind to others.” 

“I want to be that, marster, without losses or 
gains.” 

Stannard looked up in surprise. 

“My boy,” he said, kindly, “you rebuke me justly, 
and I beg your pardon for uttering an unworthy 
sentiment. Take the blankets, Aleck, for the lesson 
you have given me ; and if ever you need a friend 
come to me.” 

Puzzled a little, and a good deal alarmed at his 
own boldness, Aleck went out quickly. 

“Who would have thought he was such a casuist,” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


25 


Stannard said to himself. “ He surprised me, really. 
He has shown me how true is the saying that noble- 
ness of soul may often be found with an uncomely 
body. There’s real stuif in that boy — pity there’s 
not more of it in those men drinking yonder.” 

He looked at them scornfully, but still went in to 
them. 

“You must make yourselves at home, and call for 
what you want. I cannot stay with you, but will 
meet you at the inquest. Excuse me, please.” 

He went into the room where Trippe was' lying, 
relieving the servant who was watching him. 
Throwing himself into an easy-chair, Stannard 
tried to go over the events of this dreadful morn- 
ing ; but he could think of nothing but Cecy Mor- 
gan, and heartily wished the doctor, or the women 
would come. 

Scarcely had the thought passed through his mind 
ere he was startled by a woman’s shriek, and turned 
in time to see the doctor’s wife throw herself upon 
the insensible body of her husband. 

Stannard was deeply affected. It was some time 
before he could get her calm enough to listen to the 
story. 

“ Who could have done it,” she sobbed, kissing 
again and again the limp hand in her own, already 
wet with her tears. “Who could have injured 
him?” 

“It may have been an accident, you know,” he 
said, with an effort at consolation. “I was but a 
few moments behind hini, and saw no one. I 
thought I saw old Hawks early in the morning.” 

“Old Abner?” she asked, quickly, raising her 
head. 

“Yes, I thought it was he, but may have been 


26 


THE ILLEGAL MAHRIAQK 


mistaken. I got but a glimpse at daybreak ; but 
then ” 

“I had forgotten that old wretch. He has ‘a 
grudge against my husband — I do not know for 
what, and has threatened him. The doctor always 
laughed at it.” 

“We must not judge too hastily, Mrs. Trippe, for 
this may have been accidental. The truth will come 
out sooner or later.” 

“Heaven grant that it may,” she said, with some 
force, looking as if she meditated revenge in case 
her husband died. But in a moment she raised her 
tearful eyes to his. 

“What do you think of him. Colonel Stannard?” 

“I can hardly tell,” he said, after a little hesi- 
tation. 

“ Tell me the truth, please— do you think — think 
he will — die?” 

“I trust not; indeed, I hope not,” Stannard said, 
warmly, while tears came into his own eyes at the 
thought. “ He seems a little better to me. Doctor 
Pierce will be here in an hour, and ” 

“Not for an hour yet?” she asked, eagerly. 

“No, he cannot get here until the noon train 
arrives. I will leave you now, and send Sarah in. 
Make the servants attend you ; and don’t let those 
men annoy you with their tales.” 

He saw that he could do no good, and that it was 
better to leave her alone. Turning to ask her some- 
thing, he saw her cheek pressed close to her hus- 
band’s, while her whole frame was shaken by her 
sobs. Without a word he went into a gallery room, 
and threw himself into a chair. In vain he again 
tried to make a connected story of the events of 
this day. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


27 


A sleepless nip^ht, the hours of fatigue, the faint- 
ness that had more than once come over him, the 
confusion of ideas, and more than all his sorrow for 
Cecy, and sympathy with his friend, very nearly 
overcame him, and he had hard work to keep from 
dozing in his chair. 

The last things that he remembered were, the 
weeping woman below, and the look of Cecy Mor- 
gan as she fainted by that dreadful bed ; and with 
an indistinct fancy that it might seem inhumane for 
him to think of sleeping even, when Cecy was so 
ill, and his friend insensible so near him, he sank 
into an uneasy slumber. Nature could bear up no 
longer. 


28 


THE ILLEGAL MAERIAGK 


CHAPTER II. 

OLD DAN MORGAN. 

Throughout the cotton States where the planta- 
tions are numerous, and where the houses are 
scarcely thick enough to be called a village, the 
name of “ settlement” is frequent. This is generally 
preceded by the name of some large planter, some 
early settler, or the nearest stream. 

Echaconnee Creek — the water of the bounding 
deer, as it was called in the euphonious Indian 
dialect — took its rise in the hilly, up-country, and, 
winding about through pleasant fields and swampy 
bottoms, finally poured its waters into the Flint. 

Just where the Echaconnee ran still and deep, 
through cypress and magnolia swamps, there rose a 
bit of high land, upon which was Echaconnee, a 
large and valuable plantation. 

Ever since the first settlement of the country by 
the whites, this vast estate had been the property of 
the Morgans, who, with the Bonds of the county 
above, had been known as the largest cotton planters 
in the State of Georgia. For many years, at the 
time of which we write, this had been owned by 
Daniel Morgan, the last male heir of this once large 
and wealthy family. 

The house which stood near the brow of the hill, 
and overlooked the tree-tops in the valley for miles 
and miles, had been built in the earlier colonial 
days by a Morgan, who had left England with a 
large fortune, to become a planter in the New 
World, He had brought with him a number of 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE, 


29 


family portraits and other works of art, and had 
built a mansion that served not only as a residence, 
but as a fortification in time of danger. 

During the Indian wars, it had been still further 
strengthened, but when peace came it was some- 
what improved in appearance, but showed its earlier 
strength and solidity. ‘For this reason it was called 
“The Castle,” or at the time of which we are speak- 
ing, it was known as “Old Morgan’s Castle,” short- 
ened to its former name in familiar conversation. 

The plantation was a fine one indeed, and noted 
throughout the State for the fine quality of its 
cotton, and its large crops. Besides this, the place 
was universally remarked for the beuaty of its 
grounds and gardens. 

The large mansion, with its airy veranda, half- 
hidden by creeping vines, its broad hall, its large 
windows with Italian shades and blinds, its general 
air of comfort, merited more than a passing notice. 

From the road it was partially concealed by a 
number of fine magnolias; while the well-tended 
garden, with its pastures of fiowers, was barely 
visible through the thick althea bushes which 
formed a hedge. 

The gate was broad, and from it a graveled walk, 
hemmed in by rows of box, and higher rows of rose- 
bushes led up to steps. On each side were beds of 
dahlias and violets inclosed in figures of evergreen 
shrubbery. Looking up this walk one saw into the 
broad hall, in which a number of pictures were 
hanging, with an enormous pair of elk’s horns from 
which were suspended hunting equipments. 

Behind “ The Castle” was a cottage house for the 
overseer, and around it, arranged in the form of a 
quadrangle, were the negro cabins. Standing upon 


30 


THE ILLEGAL 3IAREIAGE. 


the porch of the overseer’s house one could see the 
door of each ; and it was easy, therefore, to check 
the first symptoms of turbulence. 

It is a rare thing to find a village of two hundred 
souls of any race or color, where there is not more 
or less quarreling; hut generally this little colony 
was remarkably quiet. If disturbance arose be- 
tween man and wife, it was instantly stopped, 
when Ogletree, the overseer, appeared at his door. 

Though often stern when on duty, Ogletree was a 
kind-hearted man, and ruled by love rather than 
by the lash. He was often called upon as arbiter 
in quarrels, even with old master himself ; and did 
not hesitate to decide against his employer if he 
thought him in the wrong. Old Morgan would curse 
furiously for a time, and make all manner of 
threats, but it generally ended in his making some 
present to Ogletree’s family, thereby showing that, 
while he would not acknowledge himself in error, 
he respected the man for his sturdy honesty. 

“Old Dan Morgan,” as he was universally called, 
was a man of more than sixty years of age, tall, 
haggard, and stooping, showing in every feature 
the effects of long years of dissipation. 

If not exactly crazy, he was not considered sound 
in mind. . 

“He’s as mad as a march hare,” the neighbors 
were accustomed to remark ; but they exaggerated 
his peculiarities, and would not see that long habit 
had more to do with his madness than anything 
else. From youth up he had been given to the most 
dreadful bursts of passion. In his cups he was 
simply intolerable. And when a fit of horrors had 
given him a warning to stop drinking, he grew dark 
and moody, seldom speaking to any human being, 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


31 


save one. Eough, boisterous, and passionate as he 
was, old Morgan doted on liis daughter Cecy, and 
was loving and tender, at most times, to her ; yet 
from long indulgence his passions had become 
almost uncontrollable, and even with her he some- 
times gave way to the most fearful ravings. 

Such was the character that old Dan Morgan 
had borne in the Echaconnee settlement ; and he 
seemed to grow worse from year to year. Especial- 
ly terrible was he to children, who had heard the 
home gossip about him — he was their hete noir, the 
bogey with which thoughtless mothers frightened 
the rebellious children into submission. 

“If you don’t keep still and go to sleep, old Mor- 
gan will catch you!” was a common threat, and as 
efficacious as common. 

At the very sound of his name the little things 
would catch their breath, and hiding their heads 
under the sheet, remain perfectly still until sleep 
took away their young fears. 

And although men could not say that they were 
afraid of him, they did not care to provoke his 
anger, and so kept clear of the old bear unless busi- 
ness demanded that they should meet him. 

Yet, there was a bright side to his character. If 
he cursed and abused a poor man, he was apt to do 
him a service sooner or later ; if he exacted every 
dollar of his rents with the utmost promptness, he 
was very likely to return a part of it in wood, corn, 
or the free use of his cotton-gin. 

Hence, it was that he came to be regarded as a 
madman utterly, but a good man enough when you 
got on the right side of him. But one thing roused 
his passion instantly. If one came to ask something 
of hini for the support of preaching, he flew into the 


32 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE. 


wildest rage, and if the unfortunate man were not 
ordered from his grounds, with ’ threats of being 
torn by dogs, he had to listen to an abuse of all 
preachers and preaching, that fairly made his hair 
stand on end. 

For this well-known peculiarity, the country gos- 
sip assigned a reason. When a young man of five- 
and-twenty, Morgan had fallen in love with a 
beautiful girl, and was paying his addresses to her. 
Knowing his dreadful temper and dissipated habits, 
her parents were opposed to the match, and did all 
that they could to turn her mind against him. 

For a time she wavered between her parents and 
her lover. Unluckily for Morgan, he made his pro- 
posal when half drunk and was refused. She gave 
him her reasons for rejecting him. The shock 
sobered him. Morgan promised faithfully to drink 
no more and pleaded earnestly with her. 

“Try me, Mattie,” he entreated her; “just give 
me a trial and see if I do not love you well enough 
to keep my word.” 

Again she wavered. What girl ever yet failed to 
be flattered by thinking that a man’s fate is in her 
own hands, and that she has his life to make or 
mar? 

She Anally acceded to his request and promised to 
be his wife if he could come that day, twelve 
months, and honestly say that he had drank no 
liquor. For eight months Morgan kept his pledge, 
but at the end of that time Mattie Allen was enagegd 
to Daniel Guerry, the young and handsome preacher 
who had just come upon that circuit. 

Morgan was wild in his rage, and threatened to 
shoot the preacher, who had, he thought, so cruelly 
wronged him ; but ere the new couple returned his 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE. 


33 


anger had died away, or had settled into an intense 
hatred for the whole race of preachers. 

Two or three times Guerry tried to make friends 
with Morgan, and each time came near a personal 
collision with him. But though hating him, Morgan 
still cherished his love for Mattie Allen. Guerry 
came to live in the Echaconnee settlement, where he 
preached every other Sunday, and where a large 
family grew up. But they were very poor. From 
several persons Morgan learned the struggles of his 
old love, and more than once he secretly seilt her 
large sums of money. It was not until many years 
later that she found out the anonymous donor. 

Until upward of forty, Morgan lived in his castle 
entirely alone, but finally married a pretty-faced 
country girl, the daughter of a poor farmer in the 
neighborhood. 

It was no small thing for this humble girl to marry 
so wealthy a planter as Morgan, and she felt that 
the dower of beauty which she brought him was but 
a poor return for the honor he had done her. What- 
ever her husband might be to others, he was kind to 
her for the first few months of their wedded life, 
and had provided liberally for all her family. 

But her happiness was of short duration. In less 
than a year Morgan had taken to drink again, and 
all the wild passions of his youth returned. 

With hopeful resignation the meek woman bore 
with him, but despair grew upon her as his cruelty 
increased. Time and time again he had struck her 
in his drunken fits, and as often had she forgiven 
him for it. She made no confidantes in her sorrow, 
but buried all in the depths of her heavy heart. 

Even when about to become a mother Morgan 
had struck her a cruel blow across her still hand- 


34 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


some face ; and when she appealed to him for the 
sake of her child, he grew still more furious, and 
l)ushing her violently from the house, bade her go 
bear her child in a manger. 

The poor woman crept into a negro cabin and re- 
mained through the night, waking in a high fever. 

Morgan sought her early, and with a tenderness 
that equaled his previous drunken fury, took her in 
his own arms to her bed. She forgave him gladly, 
but the shock was too much for her at that time. 

During the night she gave birth to a daughter, 
and before morning was a corpse. With her last 
words she had blessed the man who had been the 
cause of her death. 

Near the last she called him to her side and 
thanked him for all that he had done for her. Old 
Morgan sobbed bitterly by her side. 

“You were good to me once, Daniel. Oh, so good 
to me ; and I love you for it now. It was not you 
that beat me, darling — it was that demon made by 
drink. Think of me sometimes, Daniel, and try to 
stop it now — won’t you try?” 

She drew his head down upon her breast, and 
went on before he had time to utter the pledge that 
was on his lips. She did not want him to promise. 

“ And our little girl— husband, you will be kind to 
her!” 

“Yes, yes!” Morgan sobbed, “I will, as long as I 
live.” 

“ And I want her called by my name. Call her 
Cecilia after me— husband?— be kind— be kind to 
her — our child.” 

She clung to his neck until death had relaxed her 
hold, and left him a remorseful solitary man. . 

For some time after the death of his wife Morgan 


THE ILLEGAL MARJRIAGK 


35 


seemed to have amended his life ; hut he continued 
to drink hard, and was always morose and petulant. 
He loved his child with passionate devotion. As 
Cecilia grew up Morgan provided for her liberally, 
and bade her governess spare no amount of money 
on her education. 

At fifteen she was sent to Europe with the Stan- 
nards, his nearest neighbors across the creek, 
whose son William had been several years abroad, 
and had just returned to take charge of the estate. 

From this time until his daughter was nineteen, 
Morgan lived alone in his narrow world, his sole 
pleasures being in the long and charming letters 
which Cecilia wrote him from Paris, and in the 
society of his favorite, William Stannard. 

Four years passed when news came that Mr. 
Stannard had died abroad, and that Mrs. Stannard, 
with her daughter Louise and Cecy Morgan were to 
return at once. It was with a beating heart that 
Cecy, now an elegant and accomplished young 
lady, drove up to the dear old castle once more, and 
flew into the arms of her father. 

Morgan was now happier than he had ever been 
in his life. He gave Cecy the utmost liberty in 
renovating the house and the long neglected gar- 
dens, and permitted her to lay out the grounds 
anew, and regardless of cost. In a few months the 
castle and grounds were greatly improved in ap- 
pearance. 

Busily engaged in this work Cecy made few calls, 
and gave small encouragement to the women around 
to visit her, though ever kind and courteous when 
they came. 

But she was much with the Stannards, riding 
over to their place nearly every afternoon to spend 


36 


THE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE. 


an hour to two with Louise, now a young woman of 
nearly twenty-five. 

Cecy found William Stannard much changed 
from what he was when she went away, and was 
often inclined to resent his distant manner toward 
her. He was too scrupulously polite and respectful 
for one who had known her in youth, and toward 
one so intimate with his family as she had been. 

“He might treat me with more cordiality,” she 
thought, “even if he cannot love me. My intimacy 
with his mother and sister ought to make him do 
that.” 

She little knew the real feelings of his heart — as 
little understood why it was that he seemed to re- 
pulse her growing fondness for him. 

Piqued at last by his studied politeness and 
courtesy, she began to visit less at his house ; but 
before her absence was really observed to be volun- 
tary, Mrs. Stannard and Louise had determined to 
spend the winter with a relative in Hew Orleans. 

Cecy wept bitterly when she heard the news, for 
now she would be cut off from him entirely, and 
could never even see him unless he chose to call 
on her. But she concealed her grief as she went to 
see her friends off, and came back with a void in 
her heart that she had never felt before. 

Although she did not know it then, the parting of 
that day was a long one ; for during the winter 
Louise was married, and in the early spring Mrs. 
Stannard died. 

William Stannard now lived alone in the home 
which had become his own, and although he often 
called on Cecy, he never seemed cordial to her. 
There was a restraint about him for which she 
yainly tried to assign a reason. He was too formal 


THE ILLEGAL MAHRIAGE. 


37 


for a friend, even ; and though she had given up 
the hope that he might learn to love her, she could 
not understand his present coolness. 

One day he drove over to the^ castle, and had 
spent some hours with her. They had been engaged 
in a game of chess, but he asked her for some music 
and she sat down at the piano. 

It gave her a strange thrill as she saw his eyes 
fastened upon her; but she could not comprehend 
the sadness that hung in them. She knew that she 
was very fair. 

“He will thaw a little toward me now; I’m sure 
he will,” she thought, as she moved away from the 
piano, and saw the look of admiration that he gave 
her. 

He arose to go immediately. 

“He turns away as if he were afraid of me,” she 
said to herself, as she followed him to the door. “ I 
will know the reason for it.” 

“Good-evening, Miss Morgan!” 

“Miss Morgan,” she repeated, tauntingly. “Since 
when have I become such a stranger to you, Colonel 
Stannard ?” 

“A stranger!” he said, in surprise. “No, no, 
Cecy — shall I call you so? You are not — you do 
not — you can never ” 

He stammered and hesitated, his face growing 
deathly white. She was frightened at his look and 
manner, and in her surprise lost the last word of 
his incoherent sentence. 

She repeated his good-night mechanically, and, 
rushing to her room, sank, down upon her couch 
and wept bitterly. 

“ I see it all now,” she mused, as she sat there 
with her hands pressed tightly over her heart. “ I 


38 


TEE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


see it all — he loves another, and is afraid that I 
shall love him.” 

Great tears were trickling down her cheeks, and 
her heart was throbbing painfully as she thought 
that it was some lady, more beautiful than she, 
whom he had met abroad. 

“ I was but a child when he went away ; but I had 
feelings even then,” she said, almost savagely. “He 
may not have known it, but ” 

Her thoughts wandered back to that happy past, 
and for some moments she thought over the simple 
story of her life. 

“Have I no pride?” she exclaimed, presently, 
springing to her feet ; but in an instant she sank 
back upon the couch, and burying her face in her 
hands, gave way to her tears. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


39 


CHAPTER III. 

THE MEETING WITH ALFRED GUERRY. 

For some months after the departure of her 
friends, 'Miss Morgan was much alone, and time 
began to drag heavily upon her. She longed for 
companionship, for sympathy, for love. 

Stannard seldom came to the castle now, and 
since that evening they had never been alone to- 
gether. This confirmed Cecy’s opinion of him, and 
with the usual contradictory character of woman, 
she now longed to gain his confidence so that she 
could sympathize with him, and console him in the 
absence of the woman he loved. 

Cecy wished to talk of her. She wished to speak 
of her to him; to show him that she could do so 
calmly and cheerfully; to ask him if she were 
beautiful and good. 

“She must be,” Cecy said to herself, as she re- 
volved these things in her mind; “I know she must 
be both to have won his love. How I should like to 
see her.” 

The castle seemed dreary enough to her now, and 
to while away the time, she made frequent visits to 
Macon, often bringing back some friends to spend a 
few days with her. 

On one of these visits she saw Alfred Guerry — son 
of the Echaconnee preacher — who, having gradu- 
ated in law, had just put out his sign in Macon. 
Cecy had never heard the story of her father’s dis- 
appointment, nor had he ever mentioned the 
Guerrys in her presence. Though somewhat ac- 


40 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


quainted with the family, and on speaking terms 
with his sisters when they met in the settlement, 
Cecy had never before met Alfred Guerry ; but she 
had often -heard his name mentioned. 

Accompanied by a friend, she had gone into a 
store to purchase some books when the young 
lawyer entered. With that sudden feeling which 
so often rises in the hearts of men and women who 
feel that they can like each other, the two had 
looked long and earnestly until both dropped their 
eves, abashed at their own boldness. 

Guerry turned to the opposite counter, bowing to 
Cecy's companion as he passed the girls. More 
than once she stole glances at li^Js fine-looking face, 
and once she felt her cheeks grow crimson as she 
met his eyes with her own. 

It was some time before she could learn his name. 
It was a great surprise to her to learn that this was 
the young man of whom she had heard, and now 
that he was gone, she felt sorry that she had not 
looked at him more closely — as if she had not availed 
herself of every opportunity to study his counte- 
nance. 

“He's a regular flirt, Cecy,” said her friend ; “half 
a dozen girls are setting their caps for him.” 

“ Do you mean to say that he is a flirt because he 
does not marry them all?” 

“Hot exactly that; but — because he seems to like 
no one in particular.” 

“ I suppose he is waiting for the one that he can 
like,” Cecy said, as she followed her friend into the 
carriage. 

“Do you blame him for that, Carrie?” she asked 
presently. 

“Of course not; of course I don’t blame him for 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


41 


that, but, Cecy, I mean to say that — you know what 
I mean? 

“I shouldn’t like to affirm that I did know; but I 
believe that 1 have some idea of it.” 

Miss Morgan returned to Echaconnee, but with 
different feelings from those she had when she went 
away. Then the place seemed lonesome to her, but 
she could find relief in working about her garden ; 
but now it was positively solitary. She could find 
no relief from the solitude that oppressed her, and 
spent whole hours by the window, with her cheek 
resting upon her hand, making pictures on space, 
and dreaming of the young lawyer. 

She grew fretful a*nd unhappy. In this mood she 
was ill able to bear the hasty temper of her father, 
who was now drinking again, and much broken 
down mentally and physically. 

On one pretext and another she was often in the 
city, and at length accepted the invitation of her 
friend, Mrs. Bond, to spend a few weeks with her 
there. Cecy was happy at the very thought. 

The young lawyer had made evening calls at this 
house, in company with friends, and evidently stood 
very well there ; but Mrs. Bond had to tell Cecy that 
there were some unpleasant rumors about his char- 
acter. 

“ Every young man has something of the kind 
said about him,” Cecy replied, “especially by those 
who are jealous of him.” 

As Mrs. Bond could give nothing positive, she 
held her peace for some time, but was actively en- 
gaged in making inquiries. 

Meanwhile the young man began to make his 
visits more frequent, and no one could fail to see 
that Cecy Morgan was his main attraction. Mrs. 


42 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Bond became annoyed, but could see no way of 
stopping the affair ; and at length she was almost 
startled to hear that Guefry came as an accepted 
lover. 

“Oh, Cecy!” cried Mrs. Bond, when she heard 
this; “have you thought of this matter well?” 

“As well as I ever can, I presume.” 

“ [t is too serious a thing to be entered upon light- 
ly, and it should he thought of long and seriously.” 

“ They say that of everything. I never could see 
the good of thinking Tong and seriously’ of a thing 
that can be settled in five minutes.” 

“ But is marriage ” 

“Not that, perhaps — I know what you would say,” 
interrupted Cecy, impetuously, “but I have thought 
of this as much as I can. My father cannot live 
long, and I am the last of my family. I cannot live 
alone. The man that I — I — that my father wishes 
me to marry, does not love me ” 

“But perhaps he may,” said Mrs. Bond, quickly, 
eagerly catching at this straw. 

“He loves another.” 

A tear gathered in her eye, as Miss Morgan softly 
repeated these words, and she turned away to hide 
it from her friend. 

“You will be a rich woman, Cecy, and will not 
want for lovers. Be sure you are right in this before 
you bind yourself to him. Alfred Guerry is not all 
that I should wish for you ; he is ” 

“There! there! dear; don’t tell me anything 
against him, for he has told me all himself. It is 
natural that the girls who haye failed to catch 
him, should try to spread bad stories about him.” 

“I only hope you are right, Cecy,” was Mrs. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


43 


Bond’s reply, as • she dropped the subject for the 
present. 

That afternoon she ordered her carriage and made 
it a business to inquire into this young man’s char- 
acter. The result gave her still more cause for 
alarm. Guerry was represented as a passionate, 
toppish young fellow, who drank heavily at times, 
and who interpolated his ordinary speeches with 
curses. His companions were none of the best, it 
was hinted ; and the tricky way that he had man- 
aged his first case at the bar, had injured him with 
the profession. 

With a heavy heart she now went back to com- 
municate her fears to Cecy ; but before reaching 
her, she paused to think over what she had heard. 

“I have nothing positive,” she thought, “and Cecy 
will not heed mere rumors. She is headstrong, but 
the most honorable girl I ever saw. What can I tell 
her?” 

Before this question was answered, Cecy came in, 
looking radiant and happy. 

“ Alfred has been here since ” 

“Alfred!” repeated Mrs. Bond, feeling her heart 
sinking as she did so. 

“Yes, Hattie, Alfred! You are surprised to hear 
me say that, but I suppose I shall always call him 
so now.” 

“ Then it is ” 

“Yes, dear, it is;” Cecy said this lightly, but in a 
moment her lip trembled, and, kneeling at the feet 
of her friend, she laid her head against the friendly 
breast. 

“You must love him, too, Hattie. He is good— I 
know he is. When you know him better you will 

like him ” 


44 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


“Yes, dear, for your sake.” 

Mrs. Bond knew that it was useless to say more, 
and for some time sat stroking Cecy’s fair head, 
listening to her happy plans for the future. 

That night she prayed earnestly that Alfred 
Guerry might be a better man than she had reason 
to believe he was. 

Two weeks had passed since her betrothal, and 
Miss Morgan seemed very happy in her love ; yet 
she had frequent fits of weeping, for which her 
friend could not account. 

Gladly would she have stayed on in the city, but 
the accounts from her father were unfavorable, and 
she began to fear for his health. One day a letter 
came from Doctor Trippe, advising her immediate 
return. 

Yet, despite her father’s illness, Cecy had to con- 
fess that she left Macon with reluctance. 

“It may be heartless,” she said to herself, as she 
thought over the matter, “it maybe heartless, and 
I fear that I should be the first one to call it so in 
another girl ; but I cannot bear to go away — I am 
so — happy here — at least I think that I am,” she 
mentally added, after a short pause. 

The thought that half the girls in town believed 
that she ought to be happy had its influence upon 
Cecy’s mind, and arguing upon it as her inevitable 
fate, she soon came to feel that she was, indeed, a 
happy and fortunate girl. 

For all her reluctance, Cecy made her prepara- 
tions for departure. The last evening came all too 
soon, and Alfred Guerry had come to say farewell. 

In his presence she was truly happy, and every 
care fled from her mind. 

“Good-by, Cecy,” he said, rising; “it is late, and 


THE ILLEGAL MAREIAOE. 


45 


I must go. Good-by, my dear girl ; it will not be for 
long?” 

“Oh, no, no! it must not be for long? Don’t say 
good-by, but cm revoir — Alfred, I must see you soon.” 

She said it so fondly that it made his heart full. 
Whatever his errors he loved this fair girl truly 
and well; and had the course of true love run 
smooth, he might, perhaps, have made a better 
man. His loose life was a thing of the past now, he 
thought, and his true life would begin with the 
present. 

Taking both of her hands in his own, he held her 
away from him, and looked long upon her sweet, 
bright face, now lighted with some happy radiance. 

As he gazed down into the depths of her tender 
eyes his own softened with love; and permitting 
them to wander over her glossy hair, her ripe, red 
lips, and fair skin, he felt supremely happy in the 
thought that she was all his own. 

“Why am I so blessed?” he asked, as, loth to 
leave, he again drew her to a seat upon the sofa. 

“Why?” she repeated, archly, turning her head 
coquettishly on one side. 

“Yes, Cecy, why? You know that my profession 
is all that I have in the world. I have nothing be- 
sides. Can you bear poverty with me?” 

“Poverty, Alfred? Do you not love me? To a 
lonely girl there is greater w.ealth in that than 
money can buy. Some time I shall have enough 
for us both, Alfred. Till then your love is all I 
ask.” 

He looked at her still more fondly, and bending 
toward her pressed a kiss upon her fair white brow, 

“People may speak ill of me ” 

“I will not believe them.” 


46 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE 


“ They may say things that will be hard for you to 
hear ; but, my darling, whatever I may have done 
in the past, I shall redeem in the present. A life- 
time of devotion could not cancel the debt that I 
have in your love.” 

“Don’t say that; pray don’t talk to me so. It 
frightens me.” 

“ I must tell you, Cecy. I must tell you now, and 
let my actions speak hereafter. I have been a little 
wild, perhaps, but malicious tongues have maligned 
my errors. From this time my better life begins.” 

Honest words they were, and as he spoke them 
the young man believed in them truly. He had 
been trained according to the strict religious code 
of the Puritans, and when away from home had 
gone into excesses from the novelty of the tempta- 
tions that surrounded him. 

“My boyish life was hard, harsh — it was cruel,” 
he once said to a pious man who endeavored to re- 
monstrate with him for his sins. “ I had no youth — 
literally, no youth, and I am going to take it now.” 

He thought of this as he sat there beside the 
woman who had pledged her life to him ; he thought 
of all his errors, his petty meanness, that had been 
almost a necessity to him ; and he thought of his 
crime. A deathly paleness came over his face as 
he recalled this word, and he started as if stung by 
a serpent. His mind flew with lightning rapidity 
over that past, and he felt relieved as he thought 
that nearly all traces of this act must now be lost, 
and that he could begin a better life. 

He spoke honestly therefore when he uttered 
these words to the woman he loved. 

Again he rose to go. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


47 


‘^Let me come to you soon, darling?” he said, hold- 
ing her hand. 

“ Oh, very soon. I will tell my father at once, so 
you can come to me at home. How happy I shall 
be in the dear old castle with you there?” 

The good-by was finally uttered, and with a re- 
luctant step Alfred Guerry went away from the one 
woman in the world who had the power to soften 
his heart. Cecy went to her chamber, but not to 
sleep. For more than an hour she sat by the open 
window, dreaming of what might have been had 
the world gone fair with her, and of what must be 
now. 

“And I do love him,” she said to herself, “I’m 
sure that I do. Heaven grant that he may not be 
long away from me.” 

Fond girl! she little dreamed of the days of 
sorrow that were to come from the very love that 
she was now trying to cherish in her heart. 



48 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE. 


I 

1 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE CONFESSION — A SHOT FROM THE SWAMP. 

Bidding adieu to her friends in Macon, Miss Mor- 
gan rode the seventeen miles home in a state of 
reverie. 

In all her life she had never experienced the 
sensations which came upon her then. Nearly two 
years had now passed since her return with the 
Stannards ; and for the past twelve months, at least, 
her home life had been far from pleasant. 

Drinking heavily again, her father had suffered 
from his excesses, and already mania-a-potu had 
twice warned him that his life or reason was in 
danger. Even to her he had grown cross and 
irritable. 

Cecy bore with him patiently until she became 
really love-sick — as most men and women do at 
some period of their lives — and grew fretful and 
irritable herself. She had gone away feeling that 
her father’s temper was hard to bear; she returned 
feeling that she could bear anything and be cheer- 
ful. 

The marked contrast surprised even herself. 

‘‘I am a child — a very child,” she thought; “and 
though it may seem silly in me to say it, and do not 
feel that I shall ever be unhappy again. At least I 
hope I may not,” she added mentally, as a doubt 
came into her mind. 

Often, as she rode along, these thoughts came up ; 
oftep she pressed her hands over her heart to see if 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 49 

it did really beat the same now that it had a lord 
and master. 

It was sweet, indeed, to this lovely girl to feel 
that she did belong- heart and soul to him ; and she 
now gave her allegiance freely. 

Taking his photograph from her sack, she gazed 
upon it, turning it this way and that to see if she 
could catch the expression that she had last seen 
upon his face. 

“I will always obey him,” she told herself; and 
then she wondered how other women could really 
cavil at the word “obey” any more than at the 
words “love” and “honor.” Again and again she 
ran over the all important formula in the book of 
Common Prayer, and called herself a foolish girl for 
doing so. 

She had given herself wholly and utterly to this 
lord of her heart, feeling no reserve now, knowing 
no will but his ; but yet, she trembled at the very 
thought of one name. 

“How fond papa must be of him,” she mused; 
and Cecy’s hand, still holding the picture, fell upon 
her lap, and she gazed out across the white cotton 
fields, and over the dark line of pines beyond. 

So happy had she been on this homeward drive 
that she almost regretted her arrival ; but the car- 
riage was now at the gate, and springing out, she 
tripped lightly up the walk. Still her mind wan- 
dered back to the city. 

“He will soon walk up here with me on his arm,” 
she told herself, as, just glancing at her favorite 
flowers, she sprang up the steps. 

With a flushed and beaming face she came upon 
the porch to meet Doctor Trippe as he came from 
the hall. For a moment the bright color forsook 


50 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


her face, as she realized the probable import of his 
visit. 

“Is my father worse? she asked, quickly, forget- 
ting to return the doctor’s greeting. 

“No worse, perhaps, than he has been for some’ 
days. I did not want to alarm you. Miss Morgan, 
by writing you just how he was; but I thought that 
you ought to be at home.” 

“Indeed I ought, doctor,” she said, feeling re- 
morse for her own selfishness in remaining away so 
long. “ My place is here ; and I thank you for send- 
ing for me.” 

“I don’t know that you can do much good here; 
but I think it is best that you should be at home. 
Besides, I may have a proposition to make to you. 
At any rate, I preferred telling you what I think of 
him to writing it. I’m glad you came in as you 
did; I was about to leave.” 

“Doctor, what do you think of him? Tell me 
quick, please.” 

She caught her breath as she uttered these words, 
and her heaving bosom told Doctor Trippe that she 
was alarmed at his remark. 

“There is no danger just now,” he said, to quiet 
her fears. “ Let us sit down here a moment : I want 
to explain to you before you go in. The truth is. 
Miss Morgan, that I find some things about him to- 
day which I do not like. I’m afraid he will never 
be himself again.” 

“ I fear not. He has been breaking down fast 
since early in the summer.” Cecy’s voice trembled 
as she said this. 

“You mistake me a little— I do not mean physical- 
ly, but mentally. Unless we can do something for 
him, be will soon be hopelessly insa.ue.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAGE. 


51 


Cecy threw up both hands in surprise, and it was 
with a cry that she asked : 

“Oh, doctor! can you do something for that? can 
I do anything?” 

“ I will do all I can ” 

“I am sure you will,” she interrupted, quickly; “I 
know you will, doctor. I did not mean it exactly as 
you think. Could we not keep him from drink?” 

“ My dear Miss Morgan, that’s the very thing we 
must not keep him from. His system requires 
stimulants. It would be better if we could get Mna 
to drink only with his meals — to sip his brandy and 
water when eating, and leave it at other times. 
That is my only hope. He is too weak to travel. 
We must try to keep him quiet, to avoid all excite- 
ment. Humor him. Miss Morgan, and you may 
have no trouble ; a sudden passion may upset him 
entirely. A great deal now depends upon the ex- 
citing cause which shall give his mania a vicious 
turn or the revnrse. You’d better go in now; but I 
must tell you that there is a great change in him. 
Good-by.” 

“How is Mrs. Trippe, and the children?” Cecy 
asked, as she extended her hand. “You must ex- 
cuse me, doctor, but I have been so selfish over my 
own trouble that I forgot to inquire before.” 

“We are all very well, thank you. I dare say 
Mrs. Trippe will drive over in the morning.” 

“I hope she will; please tell her so from me.” 

“Thanks! By the by, if your father gets worse 
don’t fail to send for me. Send Ogletree over at 
once.” 

Trippe turned in the walk to say this, but again 
started on. “ If he does I’ll send him off to Milledge- 


52 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE. 


ville at once,” he mused, as he passed out of the 
gate and mounted his horse. 

Old Morgan was sitting in an easy-chair when his 
daughter entered, and her appearance seemed to 
give him no more surprise than if she had been but 
a few moments away. 

He bore her affectionate greetings passively, then 
pushed her from him, kindly hut wearily. Cecy 
was shocked, despite the doctor’s warning, to find 
so great a change in him. His wild, restless eyes, 
thin face and gray beard, long unshorn, gave him a 
grizzled and haggard appearance. Trembling dread- 
fully whenever he moved them, his gaunt fingers 
were constantly engaged in picking at the wrapper 
in which he was enveloped, or pointing to spots on 
the floor. 

Great tears gathered in Cecy’s eyes and slowly 
rolled down her cheeks, as she gazed upon his face 
and thought what a wreck he had become. She 
turned away to hide her feelings. 

Her own senses confirmed all that Doctor Trippe 
had told her, and though her father talked naturally 
enough now, she felt that his intellect was tottering 
on the very verge of an abyss, over which it might 
be plunged at any time. 

Ten days passed during which time Morgan began 
to improve. Impatient and irritable, he proved a 
great trial to those around him ; yet even the serv- 
ants were patient and attentive. 

“He’s my old marster, anyway,” they were ac- 
customed to remark when speaking of him, “he 
nused me from a child and so they put off the 
other negroes who wondered how they could bear 
with his temper. 

Cecy never wearied in attending to his comfort 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAGE. 


53 


When he was able to walk about a little she felt 
that she could bear her secret no longer ; and be- 
sides she was already pining for her lover. 

“If I could only see him just one hour in the 
week,” she argued to herself, “papa might make a 
slave of me all the rest of the time. ” 

So she resolved to tell him. In the ev^ening he 
came in from a few minutes’ walk in the grounds, 
and sat down at the tea-table — neat and tasty as it 
ever was when arranged by Cecy’s hands — talking 
to her wearily of William Stannard, who had just 
left him. 

“If I only knew how to begin,” Cecy thought, “I 
could tell him easy enough. It must make him 
happy, too. I’m sure he can’t help thinking what 
will become of me when he is gone ; and he must be 
glad to know it.” 

The pronoun “it” could have but one reference 
for her now. At length her resolution was made. 
Stealing up behind her father’s chair, Cecy pressed 
her lips upon his gray hair, and threw her arms 
around his neck. As she came round to kneel be- 
fore him he looked down tenderl}^ and endeavored 
to stroke her hair ; but his shaking hands annoyed 
him, and he withdrew it with a frown. 

“Papa!” she said, at last, “I want to tell you 
something.” 

“What is it, my dear?” 

“ I want to tell you that — that ” The words 

stuck in her throat as she realized the difficulty of 
saying what she wished. “I want to tell you — 
papa, would you like to see me married?” 

“Yes, dear, very much,” he answered her, fixing 
his mind upon Stannard, and smiling^ as he thought 
it had come at last. 


54 


THE ILLEGAL MARHIAGR 


His words and smile encouraged her, but it was 
• not without hesitation that she asked the second 
question. 

“Papa! do you know Alfred Guerry?” 

“What, of Macon? That rascally young lawyer?” 

“Yes, sir — of Macon.” 

“I should think I did,” he replied, pettishly. “I 
know the whole lot of them. What do you know 
about him?” 

“He has — that is — papa, I love him.” 

The words were out at last, and with a face crim- 
soned with confusion, she looked up for his approval. 

For a moment Morgan did not speak, but the 
corners of his mouth twitched convulsively, and an 
angry scowl gathered on his brow. Her heart sank 
as she saw him about to burst into a passion ; but 
suddenly checking himself, a look of tenderness 
came into his eyes, and he drew her head down 
upon his breast. 

“No, no, Cecy!” he said, with a trembling voice. 
“Dear Cecy, don’t tell me that! don’t say that! 
You must not think of him !” 

Again he endeavored to stroke her hair as he held 
her head against his breast; but she raised her 
head to look into his eyes. 

“But, papa, I can’t help doing it now.” 

“You must help it,” he answered, angrily. 

“It’s too late. He loves me, papa, and I have 
promised ” 

“Promised, girl!” he interrupted, fiercely. “You 
promised to be his wife? You never shall; mark 
that. None of his family shall ever set foot in my 
house.” 

“Oh, papa! do you know anything against him?” 

“I know enough against him. He is the son of a 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


55 


rascally preacher. I never knew one of them yet 
who turned out well.” 

“Father! don’t say that. It is wicked. You are 
wrong, believe me. I am sure he is good ; and you 
know his father is a good and holy man.” 

“ Holy thief 1 holy hypocrite ! I know him. I’ve 
known him for five-and-twenty years, ever since — 
since ” 

For a moment old Morgan’s mind wandered away 
from his daughter, and he thought of the young 
girl who would have been his had not this man 
come between him and her. 

“Confound him 1” he muttered, presently, between 
his teeth. “ I’ll have nothing to do with any of 
them.” 

His voice was now raised to a high key, and his 
frame was violently shaking with subdued passion. 

With another curse he gave Cecy a push as he 
sprang to his feet, overturning the tea-table with its 
load of delicate china. For a long time he paced up 
and down the hall, swinging his arms, stamping, 
screaming and cursing at the Guerrys. 

Cecy sat, as if stunned, where she had partially 
risen from the floor, until the old mamma came to 
her. With caressing words the faithful servant led 
her young mistress from the room, and came back 
to gather up the china wrecks — china which Cecy 
had sent home from Paris two years before. 

For some time Cecy lay upon the sofa weeping 
and trying to find some reason for her father’s 
anger, and she resolved, come what might, that slie 
would not give him up until some good reason was 
shown for deeming him unworthy. 

“ I challenge them to do it. I dare them to find 
one thing against him. I know they cannot.” 


56 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE. 


Her use of the pronoun was here somewhat illogi- 
cal, but she naturally felt that all the world — all of 
her narrow world at least — was against her. She 
had implicit confidence in the character of her 
lover. 

Despite the little fit of indignation and attempt to 
be brave in which this was said, she broke down 
completely, and wept bitterly over the first great 
sorrow of her life. 

Her eyes were still sad with weeping, on the fol- 
lowing morning, when Doctor Trippe came in. She 
met him on the porch. 

“ I am glad you have come, doctor ; my father is 
in a terrible state.” 

“ What has excited him?” 

“I cannot tell you all,” Cecy said, after a mo- 
ment’s hesitation; “but he was angry with me — I 
can tell you so much.” 

“Was it this morning?” 

“Oh, no, it was yesterday evening. The livelong 
night, doctor, I heard him walking about his room, 
cursing and raving to himself, now and then strik- 
ing the table with his fists. Two or three times I 
crept in to see if I could calm him; but I was 
frightened.” 

“ Could you not humor him. Miss Morgan ? I can 
guess the difficulty, partially— would it not be better 
to promise him anything for the present?” 

For a time she hesitated and seemed to think the| 
matter over ; but with a sad smile she turned to the 
doctor, and told him that it was impossible. 

“I cannot, doctor, I wish that I could, but I 
cannot.” 

“Never mind, I appreciate your scruples, and per- 




THE ILLEGAL MAHEIAGE. 


67 


haps you are right. Men and women are different 
about such things. I will see him now.” 

Old Morgan was still raving when Trippe entered 
his room, and began at once to curse the Guerrys. 
In vain the doctor tried to calm him. 

“I see it all now,” he thought, “she has met Alf 
Guerry. I hope she’ll not marry that puppy — he 
can’t raise a beard,” and Trippe stroked the luxu- 
riant growth upon his own bronzed face com- 
placently, as he listened to Morgan’s story. 

It took not long to glean the facts from Morgan’s 
disconnected words, and he saw that what he feared 
had come, and that Morgan’s mind was now be- 
yond control. Still there seemed to be a method in 
his madness, and the doctor resolved to wait a few 
days before taking the responsibility of sending him 
to the asylum, to see if the mania would not pass 
away. 

At least he determined not to delay matters so 
long as Morgan did not appear vicious ; and he now 
had another reason for wishing Morgan at home 
provided he could be safely kept there. He was 
shocked to think that this elegant girl was about to 
throw herself away upon one whom he considered a 
worthless, if not a dissolute man, and he wished to 
gain some time in which he hoped that Alf Guerry 
would show his true colors. Feeling sure that Miss 
Morgan’s wealth was all that he sought, Trippe 
wished to save her, and determined to consult with 
Stannard about it, on his way home. 

Busily engaged in revolving this matter in his 
mind, Trippe had reined in his horse, but on 
reaching the bottom by the swamp let him out in a 
gallop. 

At that instant he felt a scratch across his breast, 


58 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AQK 


as the report of a rifle rung upon his ears, and turn- 
ing his eyes quickly he caught a glimpse of a man 
sinking down behind a fallen tree. 


CHAPTER V. 

WILLIAM STANNARD’S STORY. 

Frightened by the report of the rifle, Doctor 
Trippe’s horse swerved, and started off in a run. 
As strong as he was, Trippe could not check the 
thoroughbred that he rode until the animal had 
clattered across the long bridge, and struck into the 
heavy, sandy soil beyond. 

He dismounted there, tying his horse to the fence, 
and examined his own breast where the bullet had 
struck him. Entering the lapel of his coat, the 
ball had ranged along the surface of his body, 
raising a huge welt for some inches. 

Although quickly carried away from the spot, the 
doctor caught a passing glimpse of the would-be 
assassin, and recognized in him the form of old 
Abner Hawks. 

“A close shot, my friend,” he said, looking back 
at the swamp; “a close chance this time; but 
there’s no bullet in your pouch that can kill me. 
My good friend Abner, you and I will have a long 
settlement one of these days.” 

He mounted and rode on to Stannard’s house. 
The latter came out as the doctor halted at the 
gate, and together the two men walked into the 
library. Hardly had the door closed before Stan- 
nard discovered the hole in the doctor’s clothes. 

“Great Heaven, Trippe! what is that?” 

The doctor hesitated. He had not remembered to 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


69 


hide the shot, but was not yet ready to explain the 
circumstances. Without explaining fully why old 
Hawks had a feud against him, Trippe could not 
tell the story ; and hitherto he had kept that secret 
because it implicated a young man who was as yet 
unsuspected of any crimes, and saved the happiness 
of a woman. He knew that old Hawks would kill 
him if he could do so without detection; but for all 
that he dreaded to ruin the prospects of a young 
man just starting in life, who might never again 
become a criminal. 

At this time, he felt that he could not keep the 
secret much longer, but with his usual generous 
spirit determined to keep it as a last resort. 
Stannard repeated his question. 

“Excuse mo; I was thinking about it. You see I 
had a narrow chance there.” 

“Who in the world could have shot you, Trippe?” 
“An accident, my dear fellow, an accident. You 
don’t suppose any one would shoot me purposely, do 
you?” 

“Indeed, I’m glad to hear it.” 

“ Glad ! Why it came very near putting my pipe 
out!” said Trippe, with a laugh. 

“Oh! I didn’t mean that you know; I’m glad to 
think that no one tried to shoot you.” 

“Some fellow squirrel-hunting, I imagine, who 
came near bagging a doctor instead of his game. 
Come, Stannard, do the hospitable — I feel uncom- 
monly like taking a glass of brandy and water.” 

For the first time, Trippe began to suffer from the 
shot, and felt a passing faintness. The stimulant 
revived him. “ I wanted to see you about the Mor- 
gans,” the doctor began. “I have just come from 
the castle, and left old Dan in a terrible state. He 


CO 


THE ILLEGAL MAlilllAGE. 


is raving about the Guerrys; can you think why?” 
“Yes — I fancy he’s thinking of that old affair. 
My father told me about it.” 

“Do you know of no otlier reason?” 

“None that I can think of now. Why, Trippe? 
You seem to make some mystery about it.” 

“It ’s as plain as A B C. Miss Morgan is engaged 
to Alf Guerry, and ” 

“Heavens! Trippe!” exclaimed Stannard, spring- 
ing from his seat; “you must be mistaken.” 

“I heard it from them both. My dear fellow, 
what is the matter?” 

Stannard ’s face had grown deathly wdiite, and at 
the doctor’s last words he sank back into his chair, 
burying his face in his hands. 

“Does she love him,” asked Stannard, hoarsely. 
“Heaven forbid. He is unworthy of her, but I 
fear that she does care for him.” 

Stannard covered his face again and groaned as 
if in agony. His very heartstrings seemed wrung, 
and his chest heaved convulsively. 

What sight is there more touching than that of a 
strong man in his agony? Trippe understood the 
matter now, and saw the terrible mistake that he 
had made. Reaching across the table he took one 
of Stannard ’s hands. 

“Pardon me, my dear friend, I was wrong to 
speak to you.” 

“No ; no, Trippe, you were right. It is a shock to 
me, I confess — let me think a moment.” 

The doctor sat in silence looking at the suffering 
man before him, and longed to offer some consola- 
tion. 

“My friend! I know your secret now — I under- 
stand the cause of your emotion, I did suspect it 


THE ILLEGAL MABJUAGE. 


61 


once before ; but your treatment of Miss Morgan 
afterward convinced me that my suspicion was 
wrong. I’ll not ask you the reason — unless you 
please to tell me — perhaps it is not yet too late.” 

“Too late, Trippe; too late. She loves him. Miss 
Morgan is not one to engage herself without love.” 

“Stannard! we must save her. I know that Alf 
Guerry is not worthy her love. I know him to be a 
bad man — or, I know that he has been. I cannot 
trust him ; and am well satisfied that ^vith a little 
delay we can show him up to her.” 

“ If she loves him, Trippe, that would only bring 
sorrow upon her.” 

“Better that than life-long misery when mar- 
ried to a criminal.” 

“A criminal!” exclaimed Stannard, in surprise; 
“you don’t mean to say that Alf Guerry ” 

“I spoke hastily,” corrected Trippe, as he saw to 
what this was leading ; “ I spoke too quickly ; but I 
must say that I have a very poor opinion of that 
young fellow. If I can help it, he shall never marry 
that noble girl.” 

“You are prejudiced against him, Trippe,” said 
Stannard, generously defending his rival. “Alf has 
been wild, perhaps, but no more so than the rest of 
us. I can’t say that he is a man that I like particu- 
larly ” 

“I should think not,” interrupted the doctor. 

“Don’t be too hard on the young fellow. He does 
very well now, I hear, and this marriage may be 
the making of him. I must say that I know no 
harm of him, really.” 

Doctor Trippe sat stroking his beard, and looking 
with surprise at his friend. He knew some harm 
of young Guerry, but the time had not yet come to 


62 


THE ILLEGAL MAUEIAGE. 


reveal it; and he now sat thinking of his friend’s 
generous nature. 

“Stannard!” he said, presently, “a moment ago I 
said that I should not ask your secret, but I have 
changed my mind. You need not answer me if you 
do not wish to tell it — but I want to know why you 
did not propose to Miss Morgan yourself?” 

For some time Stannard did not speak, but sat 
with folded arms and downcast eyes, as if his mind 
was wandering through the past. 

“Tell me that it is a secret, and ITl say no more,” 
Trippe continued ; “ but I wish to be a friend to you, 
and to — to Miss Morgan.” 

“You are a true friend, doctor — a true friend. I 
want to ask one favor of you — if this matter is 
decided on, don’t try to prevent it — rather let us 
help them.” 

“Stannard, you lived too late — you belong to the 
age of chivalry. Don’t try to stop me, T am speak- 
ing from my heart. I’ll promise you this ; unless I 
can show him to be utterly unworthy of her — unless 
I can prove to you that she would be taking upon 
herself a life of misery, I will do as you wish.“ 

“ Thanks, Trippe, you are a good fellow. Let us 
help them if we can.” 

The doctor had a mental reservation with his re- 
mark; but it answered for the present, since he 
knew that he could prove his assertions in the end. 

“Sit over here, doctor, and I will tell you my 
storv. It is a painful subject to me, and has never 

passed my lips before. It is a secret, remember ” 

“I shall remember that it is your secret.” 

“I do not fear for you. I was going to say that it 
is a secret that I have kept even from my own 
family. 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAGE. 


63 


“You remember when my father first sent me 
abroad? You know what kind of a boy I was. It 
was hard to be left at that age alone in a strange 
land, and without one true friend to advise me. 

“ My father was liberal — too liberal with me, and 
I had not a want that was unsupplied. The tempta- 
tions of Paris were too much for me, and for a time 
I plunged into all of the wild dissipations of that 
gay city. I was a scamp, I admit it; but I can 
truly say that I never yet wronged a living man 
willingly — never injured a person unintentionally 
that I did not make ample reparation.” 

“I am sure of that, Stannard,” interposed the 
doctor. “ Do you remember what Sir Brooke Foss- 
brooke says? ‘There is great promise in a young 
fellow,’ he remarks, ‘when he can be a scamp and 
a man of honor; when dissipations do not degrade, 
and excesses do not corrupt a man, there is a grand 
nature beneath?’ I do know your character well.” 

“You flatter me; but I repeat that I never will- 
ingly injured a human being. My money was spent 
freely, but it was shared by all my friends — or those 
who pretended to be so. 

“ I have since found out, Trippe, that a man may 
be too kind— too soft-hearted. I have found this 
out to my sorrow, for my fear of wronging one led 
me to bear as great an imposition as was ever put 
upon a boy. 

“During one of our vacations I went to Switzer- 
land for a tour, taking with me two friends who 
had long shared my purse. At Geneva one of these 
nien— devils let me call them— wished to introduce 
me to his sister, who was, he said, at one of the 
pensionats— a school-girl, who had been there for 
some years. 


64 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE. 


“ He took me to see Adela, his reputed sister, and, 
boy as I was, I thought her charming. Her free- 
dom surprised me at times, but I thought it the 
freak of a school-girl whojiad been closely kept 
from the world. 

“One evening we were speaking of a ball that 
was to be given on the following night, and Adela 
expressed a desire to go. I thought it a capital 
thing to assist her in escaping from school walls, 
and that night dreamed of the pleasure that I should 
have in seeing the surprise of this girl, when intro- 
duced into a new world. 

“Remember, Trippe, I was only nineteen then. 
During the day, these good friends of mine had 
taken me to a dinner, where we drank freely, and I 
was well under the influence of wine when I went 
to meet Adela. We went to the ball. My older 
companions led me on to drink still more, and when 
I declined, they insisted upon one more glass, and I 
yielded to them. 

“ They had drugged my wine. I had a faint recol- 
lection of going back to the ball-room, of seeing 
everything in confusion about me, of falling on the 
floor, while a crowd gathered around. 

“When I came to my senses again it was evening 
of the following day. I felt faint and sore, and was 
trying to collect my thoughts, when Adela’s brother 
came into my room. 

“ He pretended great solicitude for me, and called 
me his brother. Presently he asked me when the 
wedding was to be. I asked for an explanation, 
and he told me that in my drunken fit of the niglit 
previous, I had torn the mask from Adela’s face, 
exposing her to the whole room, and that, when 
remonstrated with, I had called the people to wit- 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


65 


ness that she was my betrothed, and that I had 
purposely released her from school in order to marry 
her. 

“ As soon as possible I went to see Adela, finding 
her at a cheap hotel in the ‘outskirts of the city. 
She confirmed her brother’s story, and said that I 
had ruined her forever ; for she had been expelled 
from the school after the exposure that I had caused. 
With tears and prayers she knelt at my feet, pray- 
ing that I would not let her be ruined and disgraced. 

“ Trippe ! you will think me a fool for what I did, 
but think how young 1 was at the time. I really 
believed that I had been the cause of all this, and 
my heart was deeply touched by Adela’s distress. 

“ But one thing troubled me at the time. I knew 
that Adela’s appearance would be acceptable to my 
parents, and I thought her an innocent girl. But, 
Trippe, I thought even then of little Cecy Morgan, 
a mere baby. 

“I married Adela at once. My friend, this subject 
becomes painful to me — excuse me for a moment.” 

Two or three times Stannard paced up and down 
the room, the doctor sitting in silence. Suppressing 
his emotion with a strong, manly effort, Stannard 
continued : 

“ Let me pass lightly over the rest of this dreadful 
story. The wedding was strictly private, according 
to Adela’s wish, no witnesses being present but her 
brother, my friend! Heavens, Trippe, how could 
men make so great a mockery of the sacred name 
of friendship as did this brother and his friend, 
whose expenses I was paying? 

“ One week passed, and we were making prepara- 
tions to leave Geneva, when I one day came upon 
Adela unawares in the garden of the house where 


66 


THE ILLEGAL MAURIAQR 


we were staying. I came up softly, intending to 
surprise her, when I heard another voice answering 
hers. Looking through the shrubbery I saw her 
brother at her feet. 

“ I was about to spring forward to welcome them 
both, when I heard angry words and stopped to 
listen. Trippe! should I live a hundred years, I 
shall never forget that moment.” 

Covering his face with both hands, Stannard sank 
into his chair, and bowed his head upon the table. 

“Trippe!” said he, raising his head again and 
speaking with compressed lips, “I learned there 
that Adela was not his sister; that my two friends 
were gamblers; that she had followed us down 
from Paris, and had not been in a pensionat at all ; 
and that I had been a dupe. 

“ Let me cut this story short. I came forward and 
charged them with this great wrong. The assumed 
brother acknowledged that the plan had been made 
for the purpose of getting my money, but openly 
defied me. I challenged him. 

“The coward would have fled from me, but I 
pursued him, and forced him to meet me in Baden. 
I shot him through the head. 

“At his death the conspiracy broke down, but 
Adela was legally my wife. 

“ On my sister’s account I would not make a scan- 
dal by revealing all this in a divorce court, but 
agreed to Adela’s request to give her a certain sum 
of money. For this she agreed never to bear my 
name, or to hint in any way that she had ever met 
me. 

“Life had lost all charm to me then. I went to 
Bonn, and, living in seclusion, completed my studies. 
I came back in time to go to Mexico with General 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


67 


Taylor. Of my wounds and services there you 
know. On my return my family went abroad, 
taking Miss Morgan with them. The death of my 
parents and the marriage of my sister have been 
too recent to need remark. 

“ Trippe, my friend, I have already answered your 
question — I have given you the sad record of my 
life, but I must tell you more — I must tell you how 
hard this is upon me. How hard that, because 
duped when a young, confiding boy, my whole life 
is to be shipwrecked. Bear with me a moment.” 

Again he paced the room for a few moments, his 
countenance showing how great was the pain 
attending these recollections. He paused abruptly 
and continued : 

“ It was the one hope left to that poor old man 
that we — that his daughter should become my wife, 
and thus unite these two estates. The last male of 
the Morgans, he feared that Cecy might fall into 
bad hands, and the old place ruined, if not sold for 
gold that would be squandered. 

“ Morgan as the people knew him and Morgan at 
our house were two very different men. With us 
he was a courteous, cultivated gentleman. He was 
a second father to me. How well I remember the 
day I left home. Cecy was a mere child, but our 
families had agreed that we should marry. Morgan 
came to bid me good-by, and went with me to 
Savannah, so loth was he to let me go away from 
him. He seemed to regard me as his heir. When 
we parted, he slipped a well-filled purse into my 
pocket. 

‘^‘My boy,’ said he, ‘if ever you get in trouble— if 
ever you exceed your allowance, write to me 
privately. Study hard, and come home soon. At 


68 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE. 


my death you shall have a little wife and all my 
property. ’ 

The poor old man wept bitterly, as if I had been 
his own son. I wrote to him often, but never for 
money. On my return he tried to scold me for this, 
and showed me a bill of exchange for a large sum, 
which he kept ready by him to send to me. Trippe, 
I am almost afraid to tell you the amount — it was 
for five thousand dollars. This will show you how 
much he loved me. He insisted upon my taking the 
money then, but I declined, and until I came into 
all of this property here, he was trying to press 
money upon me. 

“Do you wonder that I loved him, Trippe? Do 
you wonder that I curse myself for having blasted 
his hopes? I am a coward before him, and even 
now — although I feel mean in doing it — I try to 
keep up his delusion. It would kill him to tell him 
the truth. 

“A few words more and I have done. You saw 
what a beautiful girl she was when she returned 
with my mother? How could I see her without 
loving her. 

“ I did love her, fondly. I soon found that I could 
not meet her daily as I then did ; I could not trust 
myself. Trippe, the temptation was too great. I 
could not offer her my hand ; and I could not ad- 
mit even the possibility of winning her love. I 
don’t know that she would have cared for me ; but 
I could not run the risk. I treated her coldly. 
Trippe, it nearly broke my heart to do so ; but I did 
—I did. 

“My friend, you have my secret now. All hope is 
gone. Life has lost its pleasures to me, and I must 
live here, a lonely man, and see her married to 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


69 


another. I hope it will not be while her father 
lives. Speak to her, Trippe. I will see Guerry. 
Let us delay it for that poor old man’s sake; but 
when he shall no longer be here to suffer from it, I 
would give all my wealth to make her happy. 

“ I will tell you what I shall do. He has nothing. 
If she — if she loves him — pardon my weakness, 
Trippe — if she loves him, and marries him, I will 
give him a deed of my estate in Crawford County, 
on condition that he settles the Morgan place on her 
and her children.” 

Stannard threw himself back into his chair, his 
face the very picture of suffering despair, with the 
blue veins standing out like cords. Trippe poured 
out a glass of brandy for him. 

“Drink it, Stannard, drink it,” he said, as the 
latter made a gesture of refusal; “you are suffer- 
ing. Stannard, you are the noblest fellow that I 
ever met.” 

“Oh, Trippe! don’t talk in that way. I have no 
one to give money to but her. Louise has married 
a wealthy man, and why should I not use my 
wealth to give happiness to the woman that I love?” 

“ Have you ever heard from ” 

“My wife! You feared to say the words. No; I 
do not even know that she is alive. Twelve months 
ago I sent abroad to make inquiries about her, but 
have not heard as yet. She must have kept her 
word, and I dare say is now married to another.” 

“ Perhaps ” 

“ Don’t try to give me false hopes, I beg you. I 
could not bear it again. It is too late.” 

Trippe said no more, but would not give up his 
hope. He determined to delay the marriage, even 


70 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


if Morgan’s health should improve, and he should 
consent. 

“ I will spare him if I can, for the sake of his 
father,” Trippe said to himself; “but if the worst 
comes to worst then I must expose his — his — an 
ugly word that ! For her sake, though, I must stop 
this marriage.” 



THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


71 


CHAPTER VI. 

OLD HAWKS PAYS A VISIT TO ALFRED GUERRY. 

It is needless to record the painful scenes that oc- 
curred at the castle during the next two weeks. 
Old Morgan grew worse daily, failed perceptibly, 
and gave way to frequent hursts of passion that were 
terrible. Stannard alone had the power to calm 
him, and he was often at the castle, avoiding Cecy 
as much as possible. Indeed, he dared not meet 
^ her. 

Although wandering upon nearly every other sub- 
ject, and perfectly insane upon this one, the idea 
was still strong in Morgan’s mind that he could 
force his daughter to give up Guerry and marry 
Stannard. 

The sad shipwreck of the latter’s life was un. 
known to him, and Morgan determined to bring the 
matter about, and thought of it, and dreamed of it, 
until it became the ruling idea of his mania — in 
fact, it was the exciting cause of his present con- 
dition. 

Doctor Trippe alone was aware of this — or of the 
extent to which his mind was affected by it — and 
he had remained silent so long as Morgan could be 
treated at home. At the first malicious act he had 
made up his mind to send him to the asylum. 

At length he began to fear for Miss Morgan’s 
safety, and spoke to her about it; but she would 
not listen to the plan, and was so positive that 
Trippe was forced to yield to her wishes — or for the 
time refrained from pressing the subject. 


72 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Occasionally the old man had lucid intervals, but 
a word with Cecy brought back the delirium, and 
he raved for hours thereafter. These scenes, grow- 
ing of more frequent occurrence, were very wearing 
upon her. She grew thin and pale, frequently giving 
way to fits of despair; yet she believed she was 
doing right, and fervently prayed that Heaven 
might give her strength to endure. 

One morning Cecy had walked out on the veranda, 
and was standing with her fingers interlocked be- 
fore her, looking out upon her neglected garden, 
when her father tottered out of his room. 

Leaning heavily upon his Stick, Morgan walked 
slowly, and with feeble steps, toward the spot 
where she was standing. With a bright smile, Cecy 
sprang forward to aid him, and caressingly begged 
him to lean upon her arm. He repulsed her harshly, 
and angrily asked her if she would do as he had 
asked her. 

“Papa! don’t be cross to me; I cannot bear it. 
Tell me what you wish me to do?” 

She said this tenderly, but her voice trembled, 
and she had hard work to keep back her tears. 

“I told you the other day,” he screamed back to 
her. “ I have told you often — I want you to give up 
that cursed — I can’t bear the sound of his name — I 
want you to marry Stannard.” 

“But how can 1 — how can I marry Colonel Stan- 
nard. He does not love me.” 

“It is easy enough to make him if you will try.” 
“Oh, papa! don’t say that! How could I do such 
a thing; and besides, he loves another.” 

“I don’t believe it! I know better. The trouble 
is that you have got your silly head turned, and 
won’t try to do as you ought. To think that my 


THE ILLEGAL MAIiltlAQE, 


73 


only child should wish to marry a sneak of a 

Guerrv!” 

«/ 

For the first time she raised herself to her full 
height, and dropping her pleading tone, spoke 
firmly : 

“You must not say such things of him; I cannot 
listen to them.” 

Again she bowed her head imploringly. 

“ Papa ! I beg you not to speak ill of him — not 
until you have seen him. You do not know how 
good and true he is, nor how much he loves me.” 

“Seen him? seen him? I’ll see him and his whole 
family hanged first.” 

“Oh, papa! listen to me — just one moment. Do 

hear me ” she begged piteously before him, her 

eyes streaming with tears, and her hands raised to 
his face. She saw that his passion was gaining the 
mastery ; and he clutched his stick as if he would 
strike her dead at his feet. 

“ Hear me, my father — tell me one good reason 
why I should not love him ; show me that he is un- 
worthy, and I will obey you; but unless you can do 
that I must not break my promise to him.” 

He muttered curses over her as she continued to 
implore him. 

“ He loves me so much, papa ; and I shall be left 
in the world alone — do not, oh, do not destroy my 
only hope of happiness in life. For my mother’s 
sake ” 

He broke in upon her as she uttered that name, 
and, perfectly furious now, raised his stick above 
her head. 

She sprang to her feet, and grasping the cane, 
tore it from his hand, standing like a tigress at bay. 


74 


THE ILLEGAL MAEBIAQE. 


“You used to beat her, I have been told; but you 
shall never strike me.” 

She spoke with a vigor and boldness that he had 
never heard in a woman before, and he started 
back, thoroughly cowed, as she took a step toward 
him. She held the stick in her right hand, partially 
behind her, while her left was raised to keep him 
back. 

“You would murder your father — your old father, 
for the sake of your lover,” he said, with a piteous 
whine. 

She was about to throw down the stick and fall at 
his feet, when, close behind them, they heard a step 
on the graveled walk, and Ogletree, the overseer, 
came on the porch. 

Dropping the stick, she appealed to him for aid, 
and Morgan, now completely exhausted, was led 
passively to his room. There he sat in his • arm- 
chair for hours after, mumbling incoherently and 
picking about with his bony fingers, in the manner 
peculiar to men with this kind of delirium. 

This was but one of the many scenes during that 
fortnight, each wearing more and more upon Cecy, 
and upon her father as well. Yet, would she not 
tell them to the doctor, for fear he would insist 
upon sending her father away. She was patient 
through it all, and watched him, and tended him 
with a devotion that was touching. 

Meantime, her letters to Alfred Guerry, though 
frequent, detailed but little of her home sorrow. 
She would not worry him with her troubles. Yet 
she had to tell him that her father opposed the 
match, and now and then related the opposition 
that ^vas brought to bear upon her. 

One evening, Doctor Trippe found Morgan worse 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


% 


than usual and felt that the time had come for him 
to say a few words to her. 

“Miss Morgan,” he began, as they passed into the 
hall together, “ can I have a few words of private 
conversation with you?” 

“Certainly, doctor. Let us sit out here.” 

She led the way to a rustic sofa upon the veranda. 

“ Pardon me. Miss Morgan, if I speak plainly, but 
I must say that your opposition to him is rapidly 
killing your father.” 

Without a word, she bowed her head and wept. 
All were against her. For a whim — a prejudice, her 
father would not let her marry the man to whom 
she was pledged, and the whole world, she said to 
herself, was against him. 

The idea that he was being persecuted for her 
sake, came into her mind, and her generous nature 
rose at once to do battle in. his defense. But was it 
true that she was really killing her father? For his 
sake then must she dissemble. 

“Doctor, I am a lone girl, without a female 
relative in the world. Since my girlhood, I have 
had no one to advise me. In what I have done I 
feel that I am right ; and tell me, doctor, tell me 
what I can do.” 

“ Miss Morgan, I do not like Alfred Guerry, and I 
believe ” 

“Doctor,” she interrupted, “I cannot hear you 
speak ill of him. Speak of me— what can I do?” 

“At least I can gain time,” the doctor thought, 
“and in the end I can convince her, though she 
will not hear me now.” 

“I have already given you my advice,” he said to 
her; “if you wish to keep your father alive you 


76 


THE ILLEGAL MABHIAOE. 


must not oppose him in this matter. You are both 
very young yet, and can afford to wait.” 

“I will take your advice, doctor.” 

“Let me bring Mrs. Trippe over to-morrow, and 
tell her your trouble. Only a woman can sympa- 
thize with you, I know, but we doctors know more 
of the female heart than you imagine.” 

Trippe listened to her thanks for this suggestion, 
and rode away, feeling confident that she would 
keep her word, and that, for the present, there 
would be nothing to fear ; but he had no hopes for 
Morgan’s life or reason. 

That very day Cecy wrote to her lover more freely 
of her position than she had ever done before, and 
told him that, for her father’s sake, they must wait 
until there was some change in him. She did not 
despair, she wrote, of yet bringing him to an ap- 
proval of their union ; but until that time came she 
should have to dissemble, and to disguise the love 
that she would one day give him freely. 

In reply to this, Guerry proposed an immediate 
marriage, urging that her father would become 
reconciled to the matter when he found that it was 
beyond recall. 

Cecy was shocked at his words, but blinded to his 
faults, she attributed his haste to excessive love 
for her. “Poor fellow,” she said, while reading his 
letter, “everybody seems against him because he is 
to marry me. Unless they can say something posi- 
tive they need not speak to me of him. They can 
only hint — oh, how I hate such hints! They dare 
not speak outright, for they know that to speak at 
all would be to speak in his praise.” 

She was obliged to refuse his request, and again 
begged him to be patient for a time. 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE. 77 

“ Does she let that old idiot stand between her and 
me,” he cried, in rage, as he read this letter, forget- 
ting that the old man was her father. 

“He shall not — I’ll not let an old fool like that 
stand between me and fortune. Besides, I love 
her.” 

And he thought again and again of her beauty 
and her worth. 

“It would make a man of me,” he continued; “it 
would blot out forever my past life. With her 
wealth — with a girl like that, who could not be a 
good man.” 

He was holding the letter in his hand when the 
door opened, and an old man stalked into the room. 
It had grown dark as Guerry sat dreaming over 
Cecy’s letter, and the twilight was fast fading; but 
even in this dim light the intruder was recognized. 

“ What, Hawks! is that you?” 

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it was, boss. 
Abner Hawks — that’s me, eh?” 

“Hawks, why do you come here — why do you 
bother me again? What do you want of me now?” 

“Well, boss, I want a little of that fine whisky 
first, then I want some money.” 

“Oh, Heaven!” groaned the miserable young 
man. “It was only the other day that I gave you 
all I had.” 

“ But you kin get more I reckon. Suppose you try 
the old game, if you can’t squeeze the old man any 
more.” 

“Don’t! don’t! Hawks, you speak too loud. I’ll 
do all I can for you, but I can’t raise ” 

“Oh, fudge! yes, you can. Take a nip with me?” 

“ How dare you come here to bully me in this 


78 


TEE ILLEGAL MAEBIAQK 


manner? Don’t you know that I could hand you 
over at once?” 

“ But you won’t though. Take a nip with a fellow, 
and don’t be sulky. How about that gal, down 
thar?” asked Hawks, with a leer, jerking his thumb 
over his shoulder in the direction of Echaconnee. 

“ Hawks, I was reading a letter from her when 
you came in. Let me alone a little while longer, 
and I will give you money.” 

“How much longer? Let’s read the letter.” 

The young man drew back from the extended 
hand, and a look of terror came into his face. 

“I’ll not show it to you.” 

“Oh, you won’t, hey? Then something’s up. You 
can’t fool me, boss. How long does she make you 
wait ?” 

“Until the old man gets better, or dies.” 

“That’s a long lookahead. He’ll linger on that 
way for years yit. Crazy people never do die a 
natural death if they’ve got any money. Don’t you 
know that? You’re lawyer enough for that, ain’t 
yer?” 

Guerry started as he heard this, and with open 
eyes sat staring vacantly at the man before him. 
Old Hawks poured out another glass of whisky, and 
for a few moments permitted his poison to do its 
work. 

“D’ye see,” he said, at length, squinting through 
his glass of liquor. “They go off kinder sudden, you 
know ; and the ’quest finds him guilty of lunacy in 
the first degree ; an’ they put him away, while the 
next o’ kin gits the money — d’ye see?” 

The portion was working, and old Hawks sat 
sipping his liquor with complacency. 

“^Tween you’n me, old Morgan might happen to 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


79 


die in that same way. One might’s well be hung 
fer a sheep as for a lamb, d’ye see? If you’re sure 
of the gal, it ud be a blessin’ to the universe, ef he 
did die about next week. Then you could hurry up 
the cakes with a lone gal like her, d’ye see?” 

Still Guerry sat in silence; but his cheek was 
pale, and his whole frame trembled violently. 

“Business!” said Hawks, sententiously. 

It was with a hoarse, unnatural voice that Guerry 
spoke ; but he had not yet yielded to the demon, 
although his face showed how powerful the tempta- 
tion had been. 

“ Hawks, why don’t you go away from here and 
let me alone. I’ll give you the money when the 
property is mine; what’s the use of going any 
further.” 

“I want money now, d’ye see? I’ve got a little 
job of my own down thar, and the chances air it ud 
be too hot to hold me arter awhile. I want the cash 
ready. Business, boss.” 

With a painful effort Guerry brought out the 
words in reply to a remark of which he knew the 
meaning well, and he fell back into his chair as he 
uttered them. 

“Hawks, how much do you want?” 

“Two with three noughts on it. That’s about the 
lowest figger. You do as I tell yer, and no job, no 
pay, d’ye see?” 

Again he squinted through his glass at the trem- 
bling man before him, who sat in terror and thought 
of the bargain that was being made. Old Hawks 
gave him no time to retreat. 

“Is’t a trade?” 

“Yes!” faint and feeble came from the lips of the 


80 


THE ILLEGAL MARIIIAGE. 


miserable young man, and, bowing his head upon 
the table, he hid his face in his hand. 

“I’ll take a bit of paper to that effect, if you 
please. I don’t doubt you as a lawyer, in course 
not, but as a forger, I’d rayfcher have the I 0 U in 
my pocket, d’ye see?” 

Guerry tried in vain to avoid this, but had to 
yield, and sat down to write at old Hawks’ dicta- 
tion. The latter folded the paper and put it in his 
pocket. 

“Now for the cash in hand.” 

“Upon my honor, I swear to you that I have no 
money. Hawks! I don’t know where to get it — 
indeed I do not.” 

“Suppose I tell ye — find another Widder Carter.” 

“Hush! for Heaven’s sake, hush! Do you want 
to ruin me?” 

Old Hawks laughed loudly, and facetiously 
chucked the suffering young man in the side with 
his thumb. 

“Joke, you know. I’ll tell you where to get the 
money; borrow it.” 

“From whom could I borrow it? You know that 
I cannot. You are trying to torture me. Hawks, 
and what’s the use of doing that. I have borrowed 
and begged to give to you, and if my life depended 
on it, I could not raise any more.” 

“You air a chicken-hearted fellar,” said old 
Hawks, sneeringly. “ I s’pose if I tell you where 
you can borrow a pile, you’ll have scruples agin it.” 

“ I would get you the money if I could. Hawks ; 
but nobody will lend it to me.” 

“Set down agin, and I’ll tell you a story. ’Tother 
day I shot at some game of my own on the wing, 
and jest barked it. In course I follered up for an- 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


81 


other shot, and accidentally got inter a man’s 
garden. That man’s one I wouldn’t harm a hair 
on, but he wouldn’t feel the loss of the little I want. 
I heard him a-telling a story thar, and he said 
suthing about a young feller who’s gwine to marry 
his sweetheart, and wanted to help him along for 
her sake. D’ye see? Now you jist write a line to 
Colonel Stannard, and say you want five hundred to 
git weddin’ fixin’s.” 

“No! not him; I couldn’t ask him. Hawks, I 
owe him already.” 

“Never you mind; jist write the letter, an’ I’ll 
come round this day week for the cash. I’ll take 
another nip o’ that good whisky, boss, and say good- 
night. Never you fear about the money ; it ’ill come 
ur my name ain’t Abner Hawks. Farewell, boss.” 

With a rapid jerk he had poured the liquor into 
his capacious throat, and, picking up his rifle from 
where he had placed it behind the door, old Hawks 
left the room. 

Long after his departure, Guerry sat in the same 
spot, the very picture of misery and despair. 

“Curse him,” he muttered, between his teeth, “I 
wish that I dared to murder him. I thought that 
he would never dare to come here again. I believed 
that Doctor Trippe alone, of all near me, held this 
secret. He is too honorable to ruin me ; but what 
have I to hope from this old reprobate. Oh, Heaven 1 
it is too hard.” 

For more than an hour Guerry sat musing thus, 
and forgetting that he had but just now yielded to 
another and graver crime, argued himself into the 
belief that he was an ill-used man. He fancied 
that the whole world had combined to crush him. 

Again he took Miss Morgan’s letter, written 


82 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


several days before, from his pocket; but he could 
not see to read it over. The faint starlight that 
entered the room fell upon a face which had grown 
haggard in an hour, and upon a trembling form 
that dared not stand upright. Conscious stricken 
as he was, Guerry strove to summon a fool-hardy 
courage to his aid, and endeavored to convince him- 
self that, now the world was against him, he was 
justified in defending himself. He could not exactly 
make the two ends of his moral reasoning connect ; 
but managed to pacify his burning conscience by 
thinking that he would make the end justify the 
means. Once give him the control of Miss Morgan’s 
property, and he would become a better man; he 
would be liberal to the poor; he would be noted for 
his charity ; he — The extent of his good resolutions 
cannot be told, for in his own mind they dwindled 
away into indistinct fancies. 

Thus it is, promising his Maker to perform good 
works in the future, that many a man settles with 
conscience when willfully pursuing the path of 
crime ! 

Pouring out a glass of liquor, Guerry drank it off 
and turned to leave the office. “One good thing 
about it,” he thought, as he turned his steps home- 
ward, “after that he will never dare to remain.” 


TEE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE. 


83 


CHAPTER VII. 

ALFRED GUERRY’S PLOT — THE MEETING IN THE 

WOODS. 

It was with a heavy heart, and a cheek burning 
with shame, that Alfred Guerry sat down to make 
an application to Colonel Stannard for pecuniary 
aid ; but there seemed to be no way of escape for 
him, and he was obliged to perform the disagree- 
able task. 

Morally, Guerry was a weak man. Dreading the 
exposure of an old crime, and thinking that old 
Hawks had it in his power to ruin him, the young 
man could not find courage to resist the first op- 
pressions that were put upon him, by the hard- 
ened reprobate. He became a slave, and was even 
now following his taskmaster into other crimes. 

For a certain sum. Hawks had agreed to go to 
California ; and in order to raise this money Guerry 
had to win Miss Morgan’s hand. Thus far his plans 
had worked well, but trouble was coming, and he 
felt that he must stop at nothing now which could 
aid him in accomplishing this end, and in securing 
to himself a future of peace and respectability. 

More than once he had nearly made up his mind 
to tell Colonel Stannard his story, and to ask his 
aid ; but at the last moment his courage failed, and 
he had come, finally, to think that it would be better 
for him to carry the thing through bravely, and 
enjoy the reward. It was his vanity that drove 
away the better feeling. 

Had his better instincts prevailed— had he gone 


84 THE ILLEGAL MABBIAOE. 

then to the man who could have saved him, all 
might have been well ; but he let the golden moment 
pass, and had now written for money to aid in the 
cause of crime. 

Promptly came the answer to his letter. Stannard 
had written kindly — very kindly, although every 
word had been a dagger to his heart, as he thought 
of Cecy Morgan. 

“ I send you a check, Alf , for the sum you want, 
and if you need more do not fail to call on me. 
I want to see you. Come down to my place any day 
that will be most convenient to you. Let me know 
one train ahead, so that I may send my carriage for 
you. Doctor Trippe has told me of your en- 
gagement to Miss Morgan, and I -should like to talk 
the matter over with you, if agreeable, with refer- 
ence to the estate. You know that Morgan is hardly 
in his right mind, and I would speak to you as his 
nearest friend, and a well-wisher of both you and 
Miss Morgan. Come as soon as you can, Alf, and 
believe me, your friend, 

“ William Stannard.” 

Guerry’s letter had reached Stannard soon after 
his conversation with Trippe, and at a time when 
his heart was open to the young man. He wished 
to aid him for her sake. 

The check had fallen on the floor while Guerry 
was reading this letter, and, without stooping to 
pick it up, he sat long with the letter in his hand, 
thinking of his course. 

“I shall hate him — I know I shall,” Guerry said to 
himself. “I can’t stand this much longer. Why 
does he have everything his own way in this world, 
while I am driven to all sorts of mean shifts to get 
along? He’ll not have a chance to triumph over me 
long. I will marry her, let what will oppose me.” 


'tllE ILLEGAL MAERIAGE. 


85 


Such a thought had never entered Stannard’s 
head. On the contrary, he really envied Guerry, 
and would have given all that he had to have stood 
as Guerry did with Miss Morgan; but the young 
man had lost already the finer feelnigs of a gentle- 
man, and had come to think, like too many poor 
young men, that any attempt to do him a favor was 
for the purpose of having a triumph over him,.or for 
some nersonal end. 

A. 

What Colonel Stannard could gain by lending 
him money was not quite clear even to him ; but it 
is easy to believe what one wishes very much to 
believe, and he fancied that the conclusion was 
evident — Stannard must have some personal motive. 
One thing Guerry could not deny — that he felt a 
growing dislike to Stannard since this favor had 
been done. 

Stooping for the check, Guerry thought for the 
first time of the use to which he must put it, and he 
cursed old Hawks for the necessity. 

The time was near by when Hawks would come 
for the money, and to prevent another visit at his 
office, Guerry determined to take the money down 
to Echaconnee. Where old Hawks was to be found 
was a question that he could not answer. Common 
report located him in the Echaconnee swamp ; but, 
so far as known, no man had yet seen his home. 

Still another reason led the young man to visit 
the settlement. For more than a week he had re- 
ceived no letter from Cecy, and the reports that he 
had from her were anything but satisfactory. So 
he resolved to go home for a week, and see her in the 
meantime. He could not lose her now — to do so was 
ruin, ruin forever. 

The day upon which Hawks was To visit him 


86 


THE ILLEGAL MAliRIAGK 


came, and Guerry had not been able to find the old 
outlaw. Fearing to miss him the young man walked 
up the Macon road, and sat down to wait until 
Hawks should pass. But few moments had elapsed 
ere he heard a step in the bushes behind him, and 
looking over his shoulder saw old Hawks ap- 
proaching. 

“ Why, Hawks, where in the world did you come 
from,” said Guerry, springing to his feet, “I’d no 
idea you would be along so soon.” 

“Didn’t expect me at all, did ye? I’ve had my 
eyes on ye ever since ye came this way. Ye kint 
fool me, boss.” 

“ I didn’t want to fool you. What had I to gain 
by doing so.” 

“There’s sense in that, my boy; if there ain’t, I’m 
a Dutchman. Where’s the money?” 

“ Here it is. Hawks, I wish I had cut my throat 
before asking for it. It was downright dishonorable 
in me to take it from him.” 

“ Highty-tighty, dishonorable, eh? Rather get it 
from poor widders, had ye?” 

“What’s the use of speaking of that old affair 
Hawks? That’s gone and past long ago. Why 
can’t you let it drop.” 

“Drop’s the word then; but don’t go to saying as 
it’s dishonorable to borrow money from a man who 
alwa}"s h^s his pockets stuffed full. If you play jer 
cards right you can make your fortin out’en him.” 
“It’s no use talking about it — I will not borrow 
another dollar from him.” 

“Who said anything about borrowing? Suppose 
I make him give you a fortin outright what’ll you 
give me?” 

“You are talking nonsense now.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


87 


Am I? My rule is, no job no pay— that’s fair, 
ain’t it?” 

“Fair enough, I suppose,” answered Guerry, sul- 
lenly. “I don’t believe you know what you are 
talking about.” 

“Never you mind me — just tell me what you’ll 
give.” 

The young man sat in silence for some moments, 
revolving the matter in his mind, and came to the 
conclusion that Hawks would not. speak in that 
manner unless he had some reason. Money he must 
have, and it was well to have something to fall 
back on in case he failed to get the Morgan 
property. 

“ I wonder if that old devil has got some hold on 
Stannard, too,” he thought, as he turned the matter 
over in his mind. “Hawks would not speak so 
positively unless he was sure of his man.” 

And he thought that it would be a fine thing if he 
could get the secret and use it for his own ends. 

The old man did not allow him long for refiection. 

“Come, boss, business! — how much will you give 
me?” 

“ What is the use of talking in this way ?— why not 
ask me how much I’ll give for an estate in the 
moon ?” 

“Very well, boss — have it your own way. Hurry 
up with that gal and you’ll be rich enough, I 
reckon. I’d a made yer a richer man though ef 
you’d a-made it worth while.” 

The cunning old man knew well that his bait had 
taken, and turned the conversation into another 
channel. 

Guerry was now more than ever anxious about it, 


88 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


but hoped to get Stannard’s secret into his pos- 
session. 

“ I’d like to know, Hawks, how you are going to 
make him give me anything. You are quizzing me?” 
“I’ll give you the offer just once more, boss, and 
ef you don’t want to trade, I kin find a man who 
will. Now what’ll you give me ef I make him give 
you the finest plantation in Crawford County?” 

“ Hawks ! if you will give me the secret with it, 
I’ll double the money.” 

“Who said anything about a secret?” 

“I know you too well. Hawks. I can read you 
like a book. You could not make him do anything 
unless you had him in your power. It was you who 
made him lend me the money, to go into your 
pocket.” 

“ If I had a secret of his’n do you suppose I’d give 
it to you?” 

“You might sell it to me.” 

“P’raps I might ef you’d the cash in hand. This 
note business is too risky. You might make a re- 
ceipt in full, or suthen of the kind, d’ye see?” 

The young man looked up sullenly, but said no 
more. The time might come when he could buy 
this secret and have that haughty Stannard in his 
power; but for the present he must forego that 
pleasure. He now saw that Hawks was in earnest, 
and gladly treated on the latter’s terms. 

“Give me five thousand,” said Hawks, “in gold, 
mind, no bank-notes, and I’ll see that you have the 
fortin’. That’s dog cheap for puttin’ yer into two 
sich estates, with a wife in the bargain. You’ll be 
the richest man in these parts.” 

“I’ll give you that much, Hawks, for both.” 

‘‘I must have it in writin’ though, Here! write 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


89 


down in pencil what I say, and bring the paper 
signed and sealed to-night.” 

The old man began to dictate, but was soon 
stopped by Guerry. 

“What do you want that in for — do you want it 
for the purpose of ruining me? Suppose it should fall 
into other hands?” 

“But it won’t. Don’t you see it ud hang me? 
Don’t be a fool about it.” 

“For Heaven’s sake take care of it. Hawks! 
When will you go away?” 

“Just as soon as you get me the money. Per wide 
that, boss, an’ I take myself out o’ sight forever, 
and won’t leave a trace uv that old affair behind 
me, nuther.” 

“Trippe will be here.” 

“I don’t reckon he’ll stay long in these parts. 
It’s ben gitting onhealthy for him lately — he kint 
stand that Echaconnee swamp. I reckon he’ll leave 
about the time I do, d’ye see.” 

Alfred Guerry understood the meaning of these 
words, and could not repress a feeling of joy as he 
thought that this would leave him a free man, with 
no fear for that phantom which had been so long 
hovering over him. But he shuddered as he thought 
of the means by which his liberation was to be ac- 
complished. 

Trying to deceive himself with the idea that he 
was in no way responsible for what old Hawks 
did, he paid little attention to the latter’s ordinary 
conversation, but was roused as the old man picked 
up his rifle and rose from the log upon which they 
had been sitting. 

“ Yer dreaming' ain’t yer?” asked Hawks, looking 
down with contempt upon the weak man before 


90 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


him. “It’s nigh onto sundown. Bring me the 
paper in an hour.” 

“ Where shall I find you, Hawks?” 

“ Somewhar in the pines, on the right of the road. 
Can you hoot like an owl?” 

“ I’ll try.” 

“Don’t try ef you never did. Give us the night- 
hawk — it’s easy enough. I sha’n’t be fur off.” 
Guerry started homeward, but had gone but a 
few yards before his arm was roughly seized by old 
Hawks. 

“Look a-here, boss — another word of very private 
conversation with you. Don’t you go to being a 
fool. You’ll be a-shaking in your boots before 
many days, but ef you go to showing it I’ll make it 
onhealthy for you, too, d’ye see. You get me that 
money quick, d’ye hear? I want to travel for my 
health.” 

With a laugh that was terrible to the young man, 
and which made the woods ring around them, old 
Hawks flung off the arm that he had grasped and 
plunged into the woods. 

An hour later, Alfred Guerry came to the place of 
meeting, with his contract with the demon in his 
pocket. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


91 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SHOT IN THE GARDEN. 

On the day after the meeting with old Hawks in 
the woods, Alfred Guerry determined to ride over 
to the castle, and in some way gain an interview 
with Cecy Morgan. 

He did not doubt her, exactly, but knowing the 
determined opposition that she had to encounter at 
home, feared that she might so far yield as to 
promise a long delay. This, of all things, Guerry 
dreaded most. So long as old Hawks remained in 
the neighborhood he could not feel safe, and a long 
delay, with the frequent calls for money that would 
be made upon him, must be his ruin. 

Ten days had passed since the date of Cecy’s last 
letter — the letter in which she had told him that 
they must be patient — but he had heard from her 
indirectly, and kneiv pretty well the state of affairs 
at the castle. 

It was some seven miles from where the Guerrys 
lived to the Echaconnee ; and, starting late in the 
afternoon, Alfred rode slowly along, intending to 
reach the castle about dark. He had abundant 
time for reflection, but not once did he think seri- 
ously of the consequences of being connected with 
" old Hawks; nor, indeed, did he realize the depth of 
crime into which the old outlaw would lead him. 

Vanity was his predominant feeling, and, flatter- 
ing himself that he could make Cecy do whatever 
he wished, if he could see her, dreamed of a run- 
away match, of reconciliation afterward, of the 


92 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE. 


death of old Morgan, and succession to his large 
estate. Whatever old Hawks might do was nothing 
to him, he tried to argue with himself, and even if 
detected, the consequences must fall upon the old 
reprobate alone. 

He was weak, very weak, this misguided young 
man, and not even the whisperings of nature, or the 
presentiments with which the air seemed ladened, 
had the power to make him think seriously upon 
the wickedness of his course. 

It was fast growing dark as he passed through 
the last bit of wood, and saw the high roofs and 
chimneys of the castle, half a mile beyond. The 
sun had gone down behind him while riding along 
the sandv wood, and the purple haze which had 
hung about the landscape all day, was now deep- 
ening into a black cloud. He saw that a storm was 
approaching. 

He was now nearing the castle, and, tying his 
horse to the fence near a clump of bushes, he 
walked on toward the place. It was the night of 
which we first spoke, and, as already remarked in 
a previous chapter, the air seemed full of evil 
omens. 

As the twilight deepened, he, too, began to feel 
an unaccountable depression of mind. Even the 
cows seemed to look mournfully as he passed the 
stables ; and the ducks and other fowls were un- 
usually noisy in their evening gossip, as they sought 
sheltered resting-places for the night. 

The gloomy presage of sorrow which had fallen 
upon his mind, grew stronger as he neared the 
house, and could not be shaken off. Unlike Stan- 
nard, who was at that moment enjoying a cigar 
upon his porch, Guerry could not reason about the 


THE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE. 


93 


matter, but quickened his steps, and soon came to 
the line of garden fence. Along this he walked to a 
sheltered spot near the front gate. 

For some time he stood behind the shrubbery, 
peering through at the windows, which yet showed 
no light within — drawing in, with every breath, the 
strong odor of magnolia blossoms, and the still 
stronger perfumes, in this heavy evening air, that 
came from the pride of India trees. 

A step on the porch made him forget all this. 
Pushing aside the dense altheas before him, Alfred 
saw Cecy come from the hall, and walk slowly to 
the end of the veranda. Very quietly she stood, her 
hands resting upon the rail, looking wistfully out 
into the depths of the evening sky. 

He would have gazed long upon this beautiful 
picture, but a storm was approaching, and time was 
precious to him. Presently, he softly called her 
name. 

■ “Cecy.” 

Though scarcely above a whisper, she started at 
the sound, and, with parted lips and partially raised 
hand, she turned her head on one side and listened 
intently. 

Again he spoke; and, conscious now that she was 
not dreaming, Cecy turned toward him. She was 
too much terrified to feel glad that he was near, 
altliough she had been thinking of him but a mo- 
ment before. 

Casting a furtive glance toward the hall, she 
carelessly walked down the steps, and, looking at 
her fiower-beds on either side, sauntered up to the 
fence. She was greatly excited. 

“Oh, Alfred! why are you here?” 

♦‘Are you not glad to see me, Cecy?” 


94 


THE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE. 


“Yes — no — Alfred, let me tell you; I have prom- 
ised to be yours, and I will keep my promise ; but, 
dear Alfred, you are not safe here — indeed, you are 
not. I cannot explain here. Oh, Alfred! do go 
away now and let me write to you.” 

A noise in the hall made her turn hastily into the 
path ; but she came back immediately, and, reach- 
ing over the pickets, gave her hand to him. A 
branch of the althea was pressed down between 
them, as he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. 
“Now go, Alfred — for my sake, go now.” 

“Cecy! I must see you for a few moments. If 
you do truly love me you will grant me a short 
interview. ” 

“ I dare not — Alfred, I dare not. It is not for my- 
self that I fear, but for you. Papa is not himself 
now; he — he ” 

“Cecy, I must see you! Do you not care for me?” 
“Oh, yes, yes, I do,” she said, almost hysterically 
now; “but do wait a few days, oh, do.” 

“I will come at ten,” he whispered, after her, as 
frightened and trembling, she sprang away at the 
sound of her father’s voice. 

She barely caught the words as she ran up the 
walk. Entering the hall, she cast one glance be- 
hind, and seeing his anxious face, was deeply 
moved. He stretched out his arms toward her. 

Without noticing that the door to her father’s 
room was open, she motioned to him to go away, 
and turning, saw her father’s eyes fastened upon 
her. 

“Where have you been?” he asked, sharply. 

“Out in the garden,” she replied, evasively. “I 
walked down to the gate.” 

“Has Stannard been here?” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


95 


“No, sir; not that I know.” 

“Who was there, then?” 

“No one, papa — there is no one there.” 

The color left her face as he began to question 
her; but at this reply, she felt the hot blood rushing 
to her cheeks, and almost despised herself for stoop- 
ing to tell him an untruth. 

“ It is wrong,” she thought, “very wrong in Alfred, 
to subject me to this. I cannot bear it.” 

By her father’s looks she now knew that a sus- 
picion of the truth was entering his mind, and she 
tried to divert his thoughts. 

“Will you have your toddy now?” she asked, ex- 
citedly, feeling a great lump in her throat which 
she vainly tried to swallow. “ Shall I bring it to 
you ?” 

' Without waiting for his reply she hastened away, 
giving a quick glance at the clock as she passed 
from the room. Morgan was unusually wild on her 
return, and she wished that she had been more 
positive in forbidding Alfred to come. 

Calling the servants to watch her father, Cecy 
went into her own room and tried to think. Was it 
wrong for her to meet him so? If conscience did 
tell her that it was not right, a vision of his pale, 
pleading face came to wrestle with her scruples; 
and, for his sake — for the sake of keeping him away 
so long as her father was in his present state, she 
was resolved to go out for a moment. 

She had written to him all about her fears, and it 
did seem selfish in Alfred to come there then, to 
increase her terror, and to make her home-life still 
more bitter should he be detected there. 

For the first time a doubt of her lover came into 
Cecy’s mind ; but she quickly drove it away. 


96 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


‘^It is his love,” she said to herself — “his great 
love for me that hrina’S him here : but he must not 
come again. I know that he will listen to reason.” 
Time wore on, and at length the little Parisian 
clock on the mantel began to strike the hour. She 
crept out into the hall softly and listened at her 
father’s door, hearing no sound. She had taken the 
precaution to tie the dogs in their houses, and now 
stepped noiselessly out. The air was damp, and 
even with a thick shawl about her shoulders, Cecy 
saw that she was shaking dreadfully with cold and 
excitement. A chilly wind was rising, and blowing 
gusts, added to her discomfort ; but she thought of 
her lover solely, and was conscious of nothing but 
the desire to get him out of the danger which she 
believed was menacing him. 

A low whistle guided her to the althea bush, and 
in a moment Guerry had seized her hands across 
the garden fence. 

“Alfred,” she said, in much excitement, “it is 
wrong for me to be here — indeed, I think it is. Do 
go — for my sake — go at once. Won’t you, dear?” 

“ Cecy, why are you so cold to me. My heart is 
just aching for you, and you do not want to spend 
a minute with me.” 

“ I do not — I mean I am not cold to you ; but I do 
so fear for you. You are not safe here.” 

“What can harm me here? Who could find me in 
the dark if we were seen even?” 

“Do you not think of me, Alfred? Have you not 
thought what it would be to me if my father saw 
you here? Oh, Alfred, my life is hard to bear now; 
do not you make it harder.” 

For a moment he was abashed, and grew alarmed 
himself as he listened to her earnest words. He 


THE ILLEGAL MAKIIIAGE. 


97 


held her hand so that she could not escape from 
him. 

“Only a few moments, Cecy. I want to tell 
you ” 

A sound in the bushes beyond made both start, 
and interrupted his words — a sound that resembled 
the chuckling of a man who was watching their 
interview. 

“Did you hear that, Alfred?” she whispered, in 
alarm. “For Heaven’s sake, Alfred, let me go! 
Oh, I can bear this no longer ! I shall faint I ” 

She was really terrified now, and tried to tear her 
hand from his grasp. 

“It was nothing, Cecy — it was the wind.” j 

“ Let me go ! I cannot stay here ! I shall die !” 

She loosened her hand and sprang away, but in 
an instant returned, and clasping his neck with her 
arms, bowed her head upon his breast. 

“Have pity on me. I am very weak,” she sobbed, 
but quickly raising her head again, spoke with 
frightened energy. 

“Listen, Alfred. I promised to be your wife, and 
nothing shall part us. I swear to you that you 
alone shall have the power to break the engage- 
ment. Will you not be patient a little while?” 

“It is hard to be patient, Cecy, when everybody 
says that you will never be allowed to marry me.” 

“Don’t believe them, Alfred. You have my 
promise. Go, now, do, please go. I have had no 
suffering like this. I fear for you every moment. 
You don’t know all.” 

“Just let me tell you ” 

She sprang away like a frightened deer, for, 
hearing a step on the walk, she saw her father, gun 
in hand, coming toward them. With great-presence 


98 


THE ILLEGAL M ABEL AO K 


of mind, she drew his attention to the opposite side 
of the path, and tried to check his steps. 

Alfred had stepped aside, but when he saw that 
Morgan was bent on shooting him, ran down the 
road and mounted his horse. 

In an instant the thought came that he was doing 
a cowardly act to leave the woman he loved, and 
whom he had led into trouble and danger, to 
struggle with one who was little better than a 
maniac ; and he rode quickly back to the garden. 
It was too dark now to expose him at any distance. 

Cecy was, indeed, struggling with a maniac. She 
had no idea which way Alfred had gone, and was 
in constant fear that he would spring out to aid her, 
and be shot by her father. 

She knew now that her father had watched her 
closely, suspecting from the first, and that he had 
been a witness to the meeting with Alfred. 

With the cunning peculiar to those who are 
afflicted with such mania, Morgan had seen her 
glances at the clock, and suspected the reason for 
them. Kemoving his boots, the old man followed 
her down the walk, and crept behind the very 
althea bush before which they stood. 

He saw who it was with whom she was talking, 
and with cat-like tread passed through the garden, 
entering the house by the side door. 

Rage had now taken away the little reason that 
he had remaining. Quickly loading his gun, Mor- 
gan came stealthily from the house; but Cecy’s 
quick ears— painfully alert at that time— caught his 
step the moment that it struck upon the graveled 
walk. Had she not heard him then what would 
have been the result? Even while struggling with 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


99 


him, she shuddered as this thought came into her 
mind. 

Straining every nerve, Cecy tried to hold her 
father back, but he grew wilder every moment, and 
soon threw her violently over upon a bed of flowers. 

Guerry heard her wail as she fell, and, knowing 
that Morgan was now loose, turned to flee. Cursing 
and raving, Morgan ran to the gate, and fired his 
gun at random into the shrubbery. 

Cecy had nearly reached him again, when the 
flash of the gun made her start back ; and in terror 
she heard the report ringing out upon the heavy 
night air. 

Its echoes had not ceased ere from the shrubbery 
came a cry, followed by a smothered but audible 
groan, and without a word, she sank senseless upon 
the ground. 


100 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGEi 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE DEATH OF OLD MORGAN. 

The report of the gun in the garden alarmed the 
entire place, and Ogletree with half a dozen negroes 
came running to the sopt. 

They raised Cecy from the ground, and, seeing 
that she was not shot, took her into the house. 
Morgan went in before them — silent and passive 
for a moment, then bursting out into demoniac fits 
of raving. 

It was some time before Miss Morgan opened her ' 
eyes. She saw Ogletree in the hall, near her door, 
and called him in. 

“Is he dead?” she asked, faintly. 

“Oh, no, miss,” he replied, thinking that she 
spoke of her father; “he is not hurt.” , 

“Look again! Look in the bushes to the left. 
Oh, go — go at once!” 

Ogletree began to understand her now, and went 
out to get lanterns. They searched the shrubbery 
well, but could find no man there, yet near the 
fence was a pool of blood, which trickled along a 
few paces into the road. The fresh tracks m^e 
there by a horse, told the rest of the story. 

The assurance could not calm Cecy’s fears; for, if 
able to get away, that cry she had heard was proof 
enough that Alfred was wounded. Even then, she 
thought, he might be dying by the road-side. 

The house was in confusion. Alarmed at the 
condition of their young mistress, the servants had 
forgotten Morgan in the other room ; but he was 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


101 


now calm, and had probably sunk down upon his 
bed, worn out with excitement and fatigue. 

Setting the usual watch, the servants retired. 
Two or three hours passed— sleepless hours to Cecy 
Morgan— when the old man was heard moving 
about his room, mumbling and cursing to himself. 

Throwing on a wrapper, Cecy stepped out to see 
if the servant was at his post, and returning, went 
along the hall to make sure that the front door was 
bolted. Just as she again reached her own door her 
arm was seized violently, and before she could 
resist, her father had dragged her into his own 
room. He turned the key in the lock, and it was 
with horror that she saw the inner door firmly 
fastened. 

“Wedl have it out to-night,” he said, fiercely, still 
grasping her arm. “Will you promise me never to 
see that Guerry again?” 

His strong grip was pressing into her tender arm, 
giving intense pain, and he whirled her around 
roughly, to bring her before him. 

“ Do not ! Oh, my father, do not — you hurt me — 
do let me go !” 

“Will you promise!” 

“Father, he may be dead. Perhaps you have 
killed him!” 

“ I wish I had — curse him ! I tried hard enough, 
but he got away from me. I wish I had shot his 
father thirty years ago.” 

Cecy felt a thrill of pleasure, even in her terrible 
situation, as she heard from her father’s lips that 
Alfred had escaped, and she breathed a prayer to 
Heaven that his injury might have been slight. 

“Papa, listen to me,” she said, beseechingly, “I 


102 


THE ILLEGAL 3IARBIAOE. 


have promised him and cannot break my word at 
once ; let me ” 

“You won’t, then? That’s what you mean, is it? 
Would you rather go to your grave?” 

He pulled her rudely to the bedside, and, reaching 
his hand under the pillow, drew out a long carving 
knife. Raising it menacingly, he held it above her 
head. 

“Would you kill me, father?” she implored, as 
she fell upon her knees at his feet ; “ would you kill 
your own daughter?” 

“Kill you! Yes, ten times over rather than see 
you the wife of that man.” 

Again he raised the knife as if to strike. 

“Help! oh. Heaven help me!” she cried, feebly, 
as she fell unconscious on the floor. 

How long she remained there insensible Miss 
Morgan never knew. When she again opened her 
eyes they fell upon a sight that nearly froze her 
soul with horror. 

Swaying to and fro beside the bed stood her 
father, swinging his arms wildly about, and raving 
incoherently. His breast was covered with bloody 
wounds. Blood was fast dripping from him, and 
fell upon the floor in drops; the window was 
broken, and the chairs thrown about in confusion, 
as if a struggle had taken place within the room. 

Within her reach lay the bloody knife, and quickly 
seizing it, she gave shriek after shriek, as she rose 
and pushed her father down upon the bed. He fell 
heavily across it, and she was exerting her feeble 
strength to the utmost in trying to raise his feet, 
when Ogletree and the negroes broke in the door. 

In the excitement of the moment, Cecy had not 
remembered that the door was bolted. She still 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


103 


held the bloody knife in her hand. Ogletree took 
it from her, and turned to lay Morgan farther on 
the bed; but the old man resisted, with all the 
strength that remained to him, the efforts to aid 
him or to check the flow of blood. 

Turning her face away from that dreadful bed, 
her eyes looked out into the garden. Was she 
asleep? Through the honeysuckle vine that clam- 
bered over the veranda, she saw two piercing eyes, 
that shone even in the dark, and the haggard face 
of a heavily bearded man. 

In a second it was gone. She could not move, but 
rubbed her eyes to see if she was really awake, and 
satisfied on that score, tried again and again to 
bring the phantom back. Long after, when her 
reason had been restored, Cecy wondered if this 
were merely an image of the brain. 

Doing the best that he could for old Morgan, and 
leaving him in charge of the negroes, Ogletree 
saddled a horse and rode off for Doctor Trippe. 

It was a cold, stormy, windy morning. Before 
daylight he had reached Stannard’s house, and 
calling him up, as before narrated, rode on at full 
speed. 

Trippe was just dismounting at his own gate 
when the overseer arrived. Without going into his 
liouse he sprang into the saddle again, as soon as 
he heard the story, and rode off at a break-neck 
pace down the long, sandy hill leading to Echa- 
connee. 

Stannard was but a few moments ahead of him, 
and Trippe stepped into the room in time to hear 
the dying man’s last words. 

For some time Cecy had slept upon the couch 
where she had thrown herself, but was roused by 


104 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Stannard’s halloa at the gate, and looked out into 
the gray morning twilight. It was a long time 
before she could collect her scattered senses. Were 
the events of this terrible night real, or had she 
dreamed them? 

With damp clothing, and senses still wandering, 
Cecy crept to the bed to see her father, and had just 
kneeled there when Stannard entered the room. 

Old Morgan was near his death when his neigh- 
bors arrived. For the past twenty-four hours he 
had been really insane, and, in all probability, 
knew not what he did ; but acted with that bold- 
ness and cunning peculiar to lunatics. 

Stannard listened intently to catch the old man’s 
words, but could make nothing of them, and set 
them down as the ravings of a madman. 

“It’s all yours, my boy,” Morgan said, feebly, 
squeezing Stannard’s hand. “ I killed her — she killed 
me, boy, she killed me — I’d rather see her in her 
grave than married to him. All yours, my boy, 
with a little wife;” but suddenly he seemed to 
realize what he was saying. “No, no, Stannard, I 
killed her — killed her with my own hand.” 

It was pitiful to hear this poor old man, fast sink- 
ing into his grave, mumble out such words; and 
Stannard’s eyes were filled with tears, as he stood 
beside his good old friend, who was going, from 
earth in this dreadful manner. 

It was perfectly evident to Stannard that Morgan 
was out of his head, for he raved of killing his 
daughter, when she was alive before him; and with 
this fancy was another that he had been killed by 
her. Yet again he Avould think of the past, and 
mutter over the hopes which Stannard had heard 
years ago, when a mere boy. 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAQK 


105 


To his mind the matter was simple enough. The 
murderer had entered by the broken window, had 
accomplished his purpose, and escaped by the same 
way. 

Once only did a suspicion enter Stannard’s mind. 
Much of the old man’s incoherent talk was about 
Guerry, and, if his words meant anything, he must 
have seen Guerry during the night. But Stannard’s 
generous nature would not permit him to condemn 
the young man, in his own mind even, upon the 
wild words of a dying lunatic. He was thankful 
that Trippe had not heard this. 

“He has a strange prejudice against Guerry,” 
Stannard thought, “and I am very glad that he 
came so late. Cnless Alf could prove where he was 
last night, it might give him some trouble.” 

For Cecy’s sake, Stannard wished to aid the 
young man, and determined to say nothing about 
Morgan’s dying words. As he made this resolution, 
Stannard thought what those words were, and 
realized that he had to shield Cecy Morgan from 
annoyance and public gossip, rather than Alfred 
Guerry. 

Perfectly satisfied about the matter himself, 
Stannard made up his mind to keep the secret, un- 
less the ends of justice positively required its 
revelation. 

Daylight came, and one by one the neighbors 
began to arrive at the castle, each bringing some 
wild rumor of the event 

How is it that news flies from house to house with 
no apparent means? How was it that the Greeks, 
figliting on the sea, heard of a land victory at the 
same time, hundreds of miles away? How was it 
that, during the late war, we heard of battles far 


106 


THE ILLEGAL MAliBIAGE, 


from US, long before even the telegraph flashed the 
news over the country? It is one of those mysteries 
which the mind strives in vain to comprehend. 

Far away from railroads or telegraph ; in country 
villages where even the mail comes but twice a 
week, we heard rumors of bloody engagements, in 
which loved ones were slain, many days before the 
flying reports were officially confirmed. 

Is it that different kinds of concussion, or agita- 
tion, in the atmosphere convey different impressions 
to the mind? Does this natural agency bring us 
hope, or fear, or sorrow, or despair? Or are there, 
indeed, spirits abroad which whisk about upon the 
winds to whisper words in our ears? 

Believe as we may, the simple fact remains ; and 
we know, because the whisper makes a deeper im- 
pression on the mind, that evil news does fly rapidly 
and mysteriously about. 

Daylight had scarcely come ere the whole Echa- 
connee settlement was aroused by a report that 
Morgan and his daughter had both been murdered in 
their beds. 

Miss Morgan was lying in her own room, when 
the neighbors came, and their first inquiries were 
for her. Stannard explained her condition to them, 
while in the dining-room, as before narrated, and 
was joining in their proposal to offer a reward for 
the murderer, when a negro entered the door. 

“Mars’ William!” he said, using the first name as 
nearly all negroes do when speaking to 3"oung 
men; “Mars’ William, kin I speak to you a minit?” 

“Certainly, my boy. What do you want?” 

“Please come outside a minute,” the boy said, 
seeing the white men pushing up to hear what he 
had to say. 


THE ILLEGAL MABIilAQE. 


107 


Stannard followed the boy into the garden and 
along the walk. Passing through the gate, they 
turned to the right, and stopped by a clump of 
altheas. 

The negro pointed down into the bushes. Stan- 
nard saw that some one had been pushing through 
the shrubs to reach the garden-fence ; and on the 
ground found a letter, nearly concealed by the 
branches that had been trodden down. 

It gave him a great shock as he raised this letter, 
and saw his own handwriting; and hastily ex- 
amined the contents to find that it was the letter in 
which, a few days before, he had inclosed the 
check to Alfred Guerry. 

Stannard started back and pressed his hands 
upon his temples as if the very effort of trying 
to solve this mystery, was painful. He saw the 
blood on the other side ; he saw the tracks of both 
man and horse, and a break in the hedge where a 
man, or where men had crowded through. 

Why Morgan ^s fierce dogs had not attacked the 
intruders he could not imagine. Turning to the 
negro he slipped a coin into his hand. 

“What is your name?” 

“Dick, marster.” 

“Well, Dick, here is a gold piece for you. Don’t 
you say one word about this — not even to the 
negroes — do you understand?” 

“Mars’ William, I won’t say anything about it.” 

“Put on your hat, Dick. Say nothing to a living 
soul about this, and in a few days come to my 
house for a mate to it. I’ll give you a fine pig in 
the bargain.” 

The negro promised faithfully, and went to the 
quarters. Stannard returned to conclude his story; 


108 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


but was called out by Trippe, who wished to give 
him a word of caution. 

It was a few moments later that he sat bv the fire 
trying to think over the events of this dreadful 
morning, and to find some good reason for Guerry’s 
appearance the night before. 

That either Miss Morgan or Alfred Guerry were 
in any way responsible for Morgan’s death he could 
not believe. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


100 


CHAPTER X. 


DOCTOR TRIPPE’s HORSE FOUND IN THE CREEK. 

The clock was striking twelve when Stannard 
was aroused from his heavy slumber, after the 
arrival of Mrs. Trippe, and told that the doctor had 
been some time in the house. He sprang up at 
once. 

Doctor Hamilton Pierce, or Ham Pierce, as his 
friends familiarly called him, was a man about 
Stannard’s age, of excellent family, and a phy- 
sician of unusual ability. 

With a brilliant mind, a quick, sparkling wit, and 
power of sarcasm, he had a personal courtesy and 
grace which was worthy a Bayard. 

His natural mental power added to his education, 
or, it should be said, to which a good education had 
been added, made him a great favorite with men 
of Stannard’s stamp. 

Yet with all his cleverness he had one failing. In 
a small town like Fort Valley, where the “unco 
good” assume the entire control of society, such 
failings are apt to be magnified and largely can- 
vassed. It was particularly so in the case of un- 
fortunate Ham Pierce. 

The son of a celebrated divine, the brother of a 
bishop, the leading men of the church expected 
him to take part in the roaring revivals which 
periodically excited the community, with the regu- 
larity of the hooping-cough or measles. 

But neither threats nor fiattery could induce Ham 
to join in these meetings. Very courteously he re- 


110 


THE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE. 


fused them, however, and was want to aver that 
this led to a kind of religious dissipation, which, as 
a physician, he could not approve. 

Still, Ham was regular in his worship at other 
times ; and but one real fault could be urged against 
him — a fault which harmed no one but himself. 

Failing in all else, this was made the pretext for 
a mean and petty persecution. And when a new 
doctor settled in the place — one who was politic 
enough to join in the revivals, yet having the same 
fault in secret — he was taken up by the church set, 
and got capital recommendations even from the 
pulpit. 

Griffin, Allen, Matthews and a few others of the 
more cultivated, upheld Pierce strongly; but the 
pressure was too heavy, and his practice soon 
dwindled down to the families of the educated 
class, and the poor. Ham’s charity practice was 
immense. He never refused a call from the poor, 
day or night, and rode fifty miles to pay visits of 
charity, where his rival rode one. 

Mrs. Pierce, a Floridian, a lady of quiet, elegant 
manners, was also a favorite with Stannard ; and he 
never visited Fort Valley without calling on her. 
The two men were very fond of each other. 

Stannard made his toilet in a few moments, and 
went into the room where Trippe was lying. 

Pierce had just performed some operation for 
relieving compression of the brain, and was wiping 
his instruments by the bedside. 

“My dear fellow,” said Stannard, heartily, grasp- 
ing the doctor’s hand, “I am very glad you have 
come. What do you think of him?” 

Turning to look at Trippe, they saw him roll his 
head uneasily from side to side. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Ill 


“That is a good sign,” Pierce remarked ; “it shows 
that consciousness is returning. He is not yet sensi- 
ble of pain.” 

“Do you think he will recover, Ham?” 

“ I cannot tell yet. I hope so. Heaven knows I 
will do all that I can for him.” 

“I am sure you will,” said Stannard, earnestly. 
“ I could not wish him in other hands than yours, 
Ham.” 

c 

“Thanks, Stannard, for your good opinion. I am 
more hopeful now than I was at first. Letting out 
the extravasated blood and raising the fractured 
bone seems to have relieved him already. See!” he 
said, pushing back Trippers eyelids, “his pupils are 
getting natural again.” 

“Where is Mrs. Trippe?” 

“ I sent her out ; she could not bear to see the 
operation, and troubled me so with her moaning 
that I had to ask her to leave the room. I promised 
to send for her when it was over.” 

“Poor lady!” said Stannard, sympathetically. “It 
makes my heart ache to think of her grief.” 

“ What is all this, Stannard? I want to hear your 
story. Those men tried to tell me about the murder, 
but I had no time to listen.” 

“ Have they gone?” 

“Some time ago. I fancy they finished your 
brandy first though.” 

“There’s more in the sideboard for you—” — 
Stannard was interrupted by a servant, who came 
in to say that Mr. Simmons had passed, leaving 
word for Stannard to go over to the castle at once. 

“It is for the inquest,” he remarked. “Ham, I 
must leave you for a time, but will come back as 
goon as I can, Then I can tell j^ou more ^bout this 


112 THE ILLEGAL MAJtBIAQE. 

mysterious affair than I can now. They may send 
for you, if so you’ll find a horse in the stables.” 

“Thanks! Was there no doctor beside Trippe?” 

“None. If they have any doubt about the matter 
they may send for you. There’s very little about it 
in my opinion.” 

“How so?” 

“The murderer broke in the window. Morgan 
must have struggled with him, for there was blood 
all over the fioor.” 

“Who could have done it?” 

“There it is! I’m sure I haven’t the remotest 
idea who could have done it. One of the negroes 
says that he saw a horse tied by the edge of the 
timber, and afterward caught a man hanging about 
the shrubbery.” 

“Could it have been for revenge or for robbery? 
Morgan was not a very amiable man.” 

“ Ham, I have not a suspicion. Miss Morgan can 
tell nothing about it. The old man was raving 
about her in the most absurd way v^hen he died. 
Trippe heard it.” 

“Perhaps I’d better see her if they do not send for 
me.” 

“I wish you would. Ham. I must go now.” 

A few passing remarks were exchanged, and 
Stannard rode away, leaving his friend at the 
gate. 

Left to himself, Stannard’s mind took a rapid 
survey of the events which had crowded themselves 
into the few past hours, and tried in vain to make 
some kind of a connected story of them. 

“We read in the papers, and in books,” he 
thought, “of these mysterious murders, and when 
told by clever writers are affected by them, Who 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


113 


would have imagined yesterday that we should 
have such a sensational affair to-day, in this quiet 
settlement. 

“There is my friend Parker,” he continued, in 
this strain of thought, “who writes popular stories. 
Some critic calls them ‘blood and thunderous.’ 
’Pon my word, Parker never did anything that 
equals this story in real life.” 

The sky had grown brighter, but leaden-colored 
clouds floated across the horizon, and the air was 
cool. The sandy road was still wet and heayv. 

As Stannard rode across the Echaconnee bridge, 
he stopped on the opposite side, and looked down 
Upon the spot where Doctor Trippe had been found 
lying. 

Wondering how the accident could have hap- 
pened — wondering whether it really was an acci- 
dent or an attempted murder, he cast his eyes down 
the stream, and was instantly arrested by an object 
that he saw in the water. 

It was some distance down, just where the creek 
turned, and was lost in the thick swamp. Raising 
his eye-glass, he examined the object, and soon 
made out the hoof and leg of a horse. Tracing it 
along he saw the saddle, partly submerged, and 
overhung by the bushes which drooped over the 
bank. 

For the first time, Stannard remembered that 
Trippe’s horse had not been seen after the accident, 
and he had no doubt that this was the doctor’s fine, 
spirited thoroughbred. 

Dismounting, Stannard was about to walk down 
the stream for a better view, when he heard voices 
near him, and th© trea/d of horses’ feet upon the dry 
bridge beyond, 


114 


TEE ILLEGAL MARBIAGE. 


Simmons, the coroner, and two or three men who 
had assisted in finding Trippe, were coming to the 
spot. 

“Good-morning, colonel,” said the coroner, raising 
his hat, “ I thought we had better examine into the 
doctor’s fall, to see if we could find anything to 
show connection with the other. 

“I am glad you came, Simmons; I was about to 
look at that animal down there in the turn.” 

“That’s him, by ” exclaimed Barton, slapping 

his hand down upon his leg. “ That’s the doctor’s 
brown horse — I’d swear to him anyhow.” 

“I think it is. Barton.” 

“I jist know it, kurnel— there ain^t no kind o’ 
doubt on it in my mind.” 

“We’ll soon see,” said Simmons, tying his horse 
to the rail of the bridge. 

The party dismounted, and, walking by the log 
upon which Trippe had fallen, pushed their way 
through the thick growth of young shrubs and rank 
weeds. 

It is no easy task to walk through a thicket of a 
Southern swamp. Long,- tangled creepers hung about 
their legs, while swinging grape-vines and festoons 
of moss obstructed the way. 

It was a good half-hour’s work ere they reached 
the bend of the stream and looked upon the body of 
Tripp’s beautiful horse. 

Barton reached down and took hold of the bridle. 

“ Give us a hand here, Ira, will ye ; let’s pull him 
up a little.” 

With the aid of the current, the horse was easily 
pulled upon the low bank, and they saw at a glance 
the cause of his death, Entering the neck and 


THE ILLEGAL MAliRIAGK 


115 


passing into the body, was a bullet wound, which 
must have produced immediate death. 

They saw it all, then. Trippe had been fired on 
by some one, and the ball had entered the body of 
his horse. With one bound, the magnificent animal 
had sprung from the bridge, throwing his rider 
upon the bank, and falling into the stream. 

The current had swept the body down until it 
became tangled in some cypress roots, and thus it 
escaped the notice of those who had raised the 
insensible body of Doctor Trippe. 

Would the latter live to tell them who the assassin 
was? Stannard fervently hoped that he might, and 
the miscreant might be brought to justice. 

Remembering the hole that he had seen in the 
doctor’s coat some days before, Stannard tried to 
think who, of all in that vicinity, would be likely to 
commit such a deed. 

‘‘If it was, indeed, old Hawks, he shall be 
hanged,” said Stannard to himself, as he rode on 
toward the castle, followed by the coroner and his 
party. 

As much occupied as his mind had been on that 
eventful morning, Stannard had dwelt much upon 
the position of Mi«s Morgan, and it made his heart 
ache to think of the troubles with which she was 
surrounded. 

Gladly, indeed, would he have taken them all 
upon himself, could he have done so. She had no 
one now to care for her — to be a father or guardian 
to her— and it must devolve upon him. 

“ I will be a father to her,” he told himself ; “ I will 
care for her as if she were my own sister. I can- 
not— alas ! I may not— be nearer to her ; but she 


116 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGR 


shall never want for a counselor or a friend, so 
long as 1 live.” 

Following the servant into Cecy’s room, he found 
her lying as he had left her earlier in the day, and 
apparently asleep. For some moments he gazed in 
silence upon her beautiful and placid face. 

The sound of his voice seemed to rouse her slight- 
ly, and with a low moan she turned her head toward 
him, opening her eyes full upon his face. But there 
was no look of recognition in them. 

He spoke to her gently. 

“Are you better, Cecy? Do you not feel better?” 

Moaning as before, she drew her whi+e hand 
slowly across her brow ; but it soon fell upon her 
bosom, and her eyes again closed wearily. 

Brushing the tears from his eyes, Stannard left 
the room and went into the chamber where the 
murdered man was still lying. 


THE ILLEGAL MAIiRIAGE. 


117 


CHAPTER XI. 

GUILTY OF MURDER. 

The coroner had formed his jury of five citizens 
when Stannard entered the room where the dead 
body lay. 

Upon the table at which Simmons was sitting, 
with his thumb inserted between the leaves of the 
“Revised Statutes,” lay the knife which Ogletree 
had taken from Miss Morgan’s hand. The spots of 
blood were fast drying upon the polished blade; 
but there could be no doubt that this was the 
instrument with which the deed had been done. 

A juror took it up and drew his thumb across the 
sharp edge, but dropped it quickly, at a glance 
from the coroner. But once before, during his 
official career, had Simmons been called upon to 
hold an inquest in a case of murder, and he now 
fully realized the importance of the case in hand. 

If this was his first serious experience, Simmons 
thought, it did not follow that the jury was aware 
of the fact ; and he seemed to feel it incumbent 
upon him to act as if such scenes were of common 
occurrence with him. 

But, as usual in such cases, the coroner greatly 
overacted his part. Stannard could scarcely refuse 
a smile at this, despite the seriousness of the oc- 
casion ; yet this pompous manner became very seri- 
ous in itself, a few minutes later, when it was found 
that Simmons was deaf to all suggestions, and even 
to reason. 


118 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE 


Ordering an examination of the wounds, Simmons 
opened the statutes, and glanced furtively at the 
pages which detailed the duties of a curoner. 

Very carefully the five men began to study the 
body, pressing open each wound and testing it with 
the knife, as if every man of them had not made up 
his mind before stepping to the bedside. 

Not one had any doubt that it was with this 
instrument the deed had been committed. The 
question that remained was, who held the knife 
when the fatal blows had been struck. That it 
belonged to the house was a fact, the jury thought, 
which seemed to fasten the crime upon some inmate 
of the castle; and Stannard was shocked to find 
that, even before the proceedings had fairly begun, 
suspicion strongly pointed to Miss Morgan. 

Standing by her bedside a few moments before, it 
had occurred to him that some offensive remarks 
might be made — remarks which he hoped might 
never reach her ears ; but that a jury of sensible 
men, with only mere circumstantial evidence, could 
really think her guilty of such a crime, he did not 
imagine. 

During the morning, the negroes had been gossip- 
ing with the neighbors assembled, giving them 
wildly exaggerated accounts of the scene in the 
night. They had seen “old marster” lying across 
the bed, and Miss Cecy standing over him with a 
knife ; one had seen her strike a blow as the door, 
was broken down; others could swear that the 
dying man, with the last words that he spoke, 
accused Miss Cecy of the murder. 

These rumors had been added to and embellished 
when discussing the affair, and each juror began 
his labors with the firm conviction that Miss Morgan 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


119 


had murdered her father because he opposed her 
marriage with Alfred Guerry. 

Two or three times Stannard tried to interpose, 
but Simmons checked him brusquely. Finally he' 
was called up for examination. 

“Now, Colonel Stannard, we’ll hear what you 
have got to say,” Simmons began. “Did you see 
Mr. Morgan when he was alive?” 

“I did.” 

“ What were his last words — among the last, I 
mean?” 

Stannard hesitated. He felt that his resolution to 
say nothing which could be construed as prejudicial 
to Miss Morgan, was easier thought than accom- 
plished. The question embarrassed him, and had 
to be repeated before he spoke. 

“He said — the truth is, sir, his words were very 
incoherent and rambling. I am sure that Morgan 
had not the slightest idea of what he was saying.” 

“But, Colonel Stannard, that does not answer 
our question — what were Morgan’s last words? — as 
near as you can repeat them?” 

Stannard repeated them with reluctance, and not 
without an attempt at remonstrance, as he saw the 
jury look at each other. 

“ I must say, Mr. Coroner — I must again say that 
Morgan knew not what he was saying. He was not 
in his right mind.” 

“That is your opinion. Colonel Stannard. Excuse 
me for saying that we want, facts only — the jury 
will give- an opinion. Tell us, if you please, at 
whom Mr. Morgan was pointing when he said 
that?” 

“In the direction of Miss Morgan,” Stannard be- 

gan, but udded, with an attempt to make a diver- 


120 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAQR 


sion, “He might have been pointing at that broken 
window.” 

“At Miss Morgan,” Simmons repeated. “Was not 
Morgan weak from illness before his death?” 

“He was, sir.” 

“Could he not have broken that window when 
trying to escape from the— from his — assailant?” 

“It is possible ; but really you cannot think that 

he did. I am as sure as I live that ” 

“It is possible, you say,” interrupted Simmons; 
“we want no opinions, if you please.” 

Stannard said no more, but his heart sank as he 
saw the effect produced by his words and observed 
that the coroner was bent upon asking questions 
with the evident intention of criminating Miss Mor- 
gan. But few more had already been asked ere 
Stannard was well aware that the jury had already 
decided the case ; yet not one of these men would 
have admitted that he had a particle of prejudice. 

The entire examination was too long to be given 
here, and we take a question here and there from 
the mass to show the general drift. 

“You say. Colonel Stannard, that you feel sure 
the murderer broke in the window, and entered in 
that way. Have you any idea who it was?” 

“Hone in the world. I cannot imagine any one 
who would do this.” 

“ Do you think it probable that a man could enter 
the yard without being seized by the dogs?” 

“ It might be done, I think. I am satisfied that it 
was done.” 

“ Does it seem probable that they would not have 
alarmed the place?” 

“I do not know, sir.” 

“To me it seems very improbable,” said Simmons, 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


121 


pompously. “ISTo man could enter my yard, and 
Morgan’s dogs were as savage as mine. Did any- 
body else hear Morgan’s words?” 

“Yes, sir; Miss Morgan heard them, also Doctor 
Trippe. One or two negroes, perhaps.” 

“Do you think those words conclusive?” 

“Not at all. I am sure they are not. I have 
already told you that Morgan did not know what 
he was saying.” 

“That is not for us to decide. Colonel Stannard, 
who sent for you?” 

“ Ogletree called me, as he went by for the doctor. 
I did not know what the matter was until I 
came in.” 

“ Do you see anything that would be likely to con- 
nect this murder with Doctor Trippe’s accident?” 

Again Stannard hesitated. The probabilities were 
that the same men committed both deeds, but he 
could urge nothing but his own idea of the proba- 
bility. 

“To me it seems highly improbable,” Simmons 
remarked, “and I shall give my reasons presently.” 

Stannard felt greatly relieved when permitted to 
take his seat ; but he felt that, despite his efforts to 
shield the poor girl, his evidence had told fearfully 
against her. 

Miss Morgan was not a favorite in the settlement. 
Her superior education and experience placed her 
far above the girls around her; and though she 
treated them all with the utmost courtesy and 
kindness, they were inclined to resent her per- 
sistence in checking an intimacy which each 
desired. 

In this manner, Cecy had unconsciously made 
bitter enemies of the wives and daughters of the 


122 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


very men who composed the jury ; and they had 
come, without having exchanged a word with her, 
to think that she was one who regarded herself too 
good for the society in which she lived. In small 
country places nothing creates so strong a feeling 
of enmity. 

With painful interest, Stannard listened to the 
overseer’s story, and saw that the questions tended 
to but one purpose. 

“Mr. Ogletree,” said Simmons, “you must remem- 
ber that you are on your oath, the same as if in a 
court of law. Will you tell the jury if you ever 
heard of any quarrels between Miss Morgan and 
her father?” 

“Never until recently, sir. Of late they have had 
frequent quarrels — or high words. They were all 
on his side, though. He was a hasty man.” 

“Goon. Did you not see them in the garden? 
Tell the story in your own words.” 

“Not in the garden. I came up the walk one 
day, and saw Miss Morgan and her father quarrel- 
ing on the porch. She had a stick in her hand, 
apparently threatening him.” 

“Go on. What did he say?” 

“He said, ‘You would kill your father for your 
lover,’ or words to that effect.” 

“Did you see anything between them last night?” 
asked a juror. 

“I can’t say that I did. About two o’clock the 
negroes called me, and said there was trouble in 
the house. When I came in, both doors were fast- 
ened on the inside. The negroes were crying around 
both. I heard a noise inside — screams — but couldn’t 
tell the voice, the servants made so much fuss. I 
saw something was wrong, and stove in the door.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


123 


‘‘ Well— go on,” said Simmons, sharply, as Ogle- 
tree seemed loth to proceed; “tell the whole story, 
sir.” 

“There isn’t much more to tell. Mr. Morgan was 
lying across the bed. Miss Morgan was trying to 
push his feet up.” 

“Did she have that knife in her hand?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Did you see her use it? Remember, you are on 
your oath.” 

“No, sir. She was holding the knife in her right 
hand — so.” 

“What did she say?” 

“Not a word. I helped her get Morgan’s legs 
upon the bed, then ran to saddle my horse and go 
for the doctor. I called up Colonel Stannard as I 
went by his house.” 

Miss Morgan was still in a state of stupor when 
the inquest was going on. The whole tenor of it 
seemed to be against her, and Stannard, now really 
heart-sick, walked back into Cecy’s room. 

She started suddenly as Stannard looked down 
upon her, threw up her arms, then sank away into 
a peaceful slumber. 

“She’s bin doing that all the morning,” said the 
servant to him. 

And looking at her placid face once more, he 
stepped out into the hall. 

There was noise in the adjoining room, and the 
general conversation that was carried on told Stan- 
nard that the verdict had been rendered. The 
paper, still wet with ink, was lying upon the table, 
near which Simmons, who was also a magistrate, 
was copying the form of a committal from the code. 

Stannard took up the verdict and read : 


124 


THE ILLEGAL 3IARRIA0E. 


‘‘We, the jury of inquisition, ordered to investi- 
gate the murder of Daniel Morgan, planter, do 
hereby solemnly swear that, to the best of our 
knowledge and belief, after a careful examination 
of the facts, the said Daniel Morgan came to his 
death by reason of wounds inflicted with a carving- 
knife, in the hands of his daughter, Miss Cecilia 
Morgan.” 

The paper shook like a leaf in Stannard’s hand. 

“No, no, gentlemen !” he cried; “this cannot be. 
You are all wrong — indeed you are!” 

“The law must decide that. Colonel Stannard,” 
Simmons replied, secure in his position; and at the 
same time handed his authority to the constable. 
Raborn took the verdict from Stannard’s hand. 

“Where is Miss Morgan; I must see her.” 

“Raborn, she is very ill. It will never do to speak 
of this now — it would endanger her life. Doctor 
Pierce is at my house, and will see her this after- 
noon.” 

“Then I must remain here until she’s well enough 
to be taken to Perry.” 

The two men were walking along the hall when 
the constable said this, but Stannard turned sharply. 

“Good Heaven! Raborn, you cannot mean it. 
That is cruelty itself.” 

“I’m only doing my duty, colonel. If I had my 
way about it, she’d never go there.” 

“ True, Raborn ; I beg your pardon. I would stake 
my life that this is all wrong. That’s why I spoke 
as I did.” 

Stannard was passing out of the hall when Sim- 
mons called him back. 

“I must take your recognizance, colonel, to appear 
as a witness— a mere matter of form, you kno^v.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


125 


Almost mechanically, Stannard went through the 
formality, and, with a sad and heavy heart, stepped 
to the window. He tried to recall the words of 
Trippe. What was the explanation that he was 
about to make when interrupted? What effect 
would it have had upon this stupid jury? 

Stannard was thoroughly angry with these men. 
The more he thought about it, the more the idea 
grew upon him, that Morgan’s murderer had en- 
tered by this window — that he had committed the 
deed, and afterward tried to kill Trippe, who must 
have had some suspicion as to who the criminal 
was. 

The doctor’s manner in the morning was of a man 
who knew a secret that he would not tell; and 
Stannard heartily prayed that he might recover in 
time to prevent this great outrage to Miss Morgan. 

“ But for that unfortunate affair she would never 
have been subjected to this,” he thought, bitterly, 
and turned to the window to see the jurors going to 
their horses. 

Now that the inquest was over, two or three of 
the neighbors were preparing to lay out the body ; 
and Stannard watched the others as they mounted, 
after gossiping for a few moments at the gate. 

It was only too evident that all who had heard 
the testimony were firmly convinced that Miss Mor- 
gan was guilty of the murder of her father. 

Suddenly, as he stood there lost in thought, Stan- 
nard clasped his hand upon his pocket. 

“Good Heaven!” he exclaimed, “what have I 
done. This letter would have removed all suspicion 
from her. I did not once think of it.” 

For a moment only, he regretted this oversight, 
and then came the thought that, to have diverted 


126 


TEl^' ILLEGAL MAliEIAQR 


suspicion from Cecy in this way would have been 
to throw it upon Alfred Guerry, who could not be 
guilty of such a crime. 

He determined to see Guerry at once. Sending 
home for Doctor Pierce, Stannard mounted Cecy’s 
own saddle horse, and rode over to the Guerrys’. 

Alfred was not at home. At an early hour that 
morning he had started for Macon, leaving a note 
to inform his family of his departure. As far away 
as the Guerrys lived, the news of Morgan’s murder 
had already reached them, and the white-haired 
old preacher listened intently to Stannard’s version 
of the affair. 

That Alfred had been home the night before, the 
old man did not doubt, and so answered when 
Stannard asked the question. He felt sure that his 
son had slept at home, and full of confidence, went 
to Mfred’s chamber to satisfy his own eyes. 

One glance into that room seemed to change the 
whole appearance of the old man, for, as pale as 
death, he sank down into a chair, and seemed lost 
in thought. There were evidences enough that 
Alfred had not slept in his bed that night. 

Riding homeward, Stannard tried hard to work 
out the problems that perplexed his mind. He 
could not permit Miss Morgan to lie under this sus- 
picion; yet, to relieve her, he must throw suspicion 
upon her lover. He could not talk to Cecy now ; he 
must see Alfred Guerry at once. A few words to 
state the serious trouble that would follow the 
revelation which he might be forced to make, would 
certainly bring him to Echaconnee. 

Even as the thought was in his mind, Stannard 
saw a man whom he would swear to be Alfred 


^THE ILLEGAL MAHIIIAGE. 


127 


Guerry, standing in a small clump of pines, some 
few yards away. 

In an instant the figure disappeared, and before 
Stannard could pass beyond the bushes which ob- 
structed his view, it had gone entirely. 

He called loudly for some time, but got no re- 
sponse; and now, more than ever troubled, rode 
quickly back to the castle. 


128 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE, 


f 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE FORGED ORDER — ANOTHER VISIT TO OLD HAWKS. 

The sun was fast declining in the west when 
Stannard returned to the castle. Doctor Pierce was 
smoking a cigar upon the veranda. 

“How is she, Ham?” Stannard asked, walking 
toward the hall door. 

“She’s asleep now; better let her rest if she can. 
I will come over with you in the morning.” 

Knowing that Miss Morgan was not able to leave 
her bed, Raborn had gone to the overseer’s house 
for his dinner. 

Together the two men went down the walk. 
Stannard paused at the gate. 

“Aleck!” he called, to one of the house boys, “tell 
Mr. Ogletree that I will ride Philip home, and bring 
him back in the morning.” 

A boy led the horses up, and Stannard stroked 
the sleek neck of the beautiful bay, upon whose 
back Cecy had so often rode. More than twelve 
months before, he had given her the horse, and 
Cecy had called him Philip, after his own crown- 
pate setter, a dog of which he was very fond. 

Would she ever again take a run over the country 
with Philip? He prayed that she might soon be up 
again ; but it chilled his heart as he thought of her 
recovery and its consequences. 

“Ham, what do you think of her?” he asked, as 
they started on. “Is she very sick?” 

“No — that is ” replied the doctor, slowly and 

thoughtfully. “Was there anything like hereditary 
insanity in Morgan?” he asked, abruptly. 

“Never. The family have always been strong, 
mentally. Morgan ruined his mind by excessive 
drinking. He was a disappointed man. If ever a 
man did love a woman, Morgan loved Mattie Allen — 


TUB ILLEGAL MAERIAGE. 


129 


now Mrs. Guerry — and I don’t think he ever recov- 
ered from the shock her marriage gave him.” 

“I asked to find out if she was predisposed to 
insanity.” 

“Oh, no, not at all.” 

“ Then I have no fears for her. She has received 
a terrible shock, and lies in a state of lethargy. A 
blow upon the head could not have produced a more 
complete torpor of the mental faculties.” 

“ Is that common?” 

“ It is to such natures as hers. She may remain 
so several days ; but will gradually come out of it. 
The main thing is to keep her from all excitement. 
Until fully restored she should not hear sl word 
about last night.” 

“We must keep the servants from talking about 
it to her.” 

For some time they rode on in silence. Stannard 
was greatly troubled by the position in which he 
was placed, and longed to tell his friend the secret 
of the letter. 

At k ngth he resolved to do so, and made a clean 
breast of it, revealing nothing but the fact of his 
sending money in the letter. Pierce thought the 
matter over without speaking. 

“One thing is clear to my mind, Stannard, it’s 
your duty not to let that poor girl sufor by conceal- 
ing this fact.” 

“ But what can I do. Ham ? If I am the means of 
bringing trouble upon him, she would think it very 
hard. You don’t know her — she is the most gener- 
ous, the kindest, best-hearted girl that I ever saw.” 

“ Why did you never- ” 

“There, there. Ham,” interrupted Stannard, “I 
know what you are going to ask ; but that is impos- 
sible now. I’m sure that she loves Guerry, and any 
trouble to him would break her heart.” 

“But, think a minute, Stannard; suppose he is 
not worthy of her. If he was concerned in this, in 
any way, it should be known. I must say that cir- 
cumstances are against him. I never saw Guerry 
but once, and then I did not like him at all.” 

“Trippe does not like him either; but I never 


130 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


could see why. He is a very worthy youn^ man, so 
far as I know. Besides, Ham, tliis letter may have 
been dropped the day before. His father assured 
me that Alf was at home last night, and we may 
do him a great wrong. I thought that I saw him in 
Johnson’s wood to-day; but must have been mis- 
taken.” 

For a short time neither spoke; but presently 
Stannard continued : 

“ I know her well, and knew that she would rather 
have the stigma rest on herself than on him. I shall 
write to him this evening.” 

“ And give him warning to get out of the way, I 
suppose?” 

“Now, Ham, you are as bad as Trippe. Alf would 
not go away so long as Cecy is in trouble ; and my 
fear is that we shall not be able to keep him from 
the castle.” 

“You know him better than I do,” said Pierce, in 
reply. “ I should not judge him, perhaps ; but I did 
not get any very exalted ideas of him.” 

“He is not up tu your standard — I’ll admit that. 
Ham ; but he is young yet, and has several years to 
live before he gets to our age. This marriage may 
be the making of him.” 

“Neither time nor opportunity ever can make 
some men — may be he is one of them. I wonder 
how he ever came to pass for the bar.” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure. He is not very brilliant 
in that line; but then what are the young doctors 
when first turned loose upon the world?” 

“I give in,” said Pierce, laughing; “you have me 
there. 

“Yet, nearly all, or a majority of these young 
fellows, make very good physicians in the end.” 

“I’m sure they do. Ham, you and I have reached 
an age when we begin to see that it is unsafe to 
laugh at a young man. A young fellow of four-and- 
twenty has a great advantage over one at four- 
and-thirty, and he may live to shame the other for 
wasting his opportunities. Guerry has a profession 
that opens to him a career of politics, and we may 
yet find ourselves asking some official position from 


THE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE, 


131 


him. He is poor now, but — but she has enough for — 
them.” 

Stannard turned his head to hide his emotion from 
the doctor. 

“ Ham, it would break her heart— it would kill his 
father— if this thing should fall upon him even as 
strong as it rests on her. I shall see him in the 
morning, for as soon as he hears of this verdict — 
confound them? Simmons is a bigger fool than I 
ever thought him. I wanted to thrash him for his 
stupidity.” 

They had now reached Stannard’s gate; and, 
giving orders for the careful grooming of Philip, 
went into the house. Trippe appeared easier than 
when the doctor had left him, and, under the care- 
ful nursing of his wife, was receiving e^ery possible 
attention. 

After dinner, Stannard took-his friend out upon 
the porch, and they sat smoking their cigars, where, 
twenty-four hours before, he had sat alone. But 
one topic could be discussed between them, and 
although several attempts were made to turn the 
conversation into other channels, thoughts of the 
dreadful events of that day would bring it back to 
the starting point. 

For two or three hours they remained there, on 
Stannard’s magnolia-shaded porch, but at length 
the doctor looked at his watch. 

“ ITl come up in the midday train to-morrow ” 

“You don’t mean to say that you are going back 
to-night?” 

“ I must. My wife will be anxious about me. Be- 
sides, I have patients to see in the morning.” 

“ I am sorry to have you go, but if you must it is 
time to start. I hear the eleven o’clock express 
coming. No hurry,” Stannard added, as Pierce 
sprang to his feet ; “at night we hear the train a 
half hour before it gets down. I’ll walk over with 
you.” 

As they reached the station, the night express 
came rushing round the curve, whistling down the 
breaks to show that the signal had been seen, with 


132 


THE ILLEGAL MARTtlAQE. 


its brilliant headlight gleaming through the mist 
which hung about the Echaconnee swamp. 

Without stopping entirely, the train was slackened 
sufficiently for the doctor to get on, and he sprang 
upon the steps. “Don’t miss the train to-morrow. 
Ham; be sure. Kegards to Mrs. Pierce,” Stannard 
called, in answer to the doctor’s salute, as the train 
bore him away. 

Full of trouble, Stannard returned to his house, 
and wrote to Alfred Guerry before retiring. It was 
no easy task for him, and he was dissatisfied with 
his words when the letter was completed. 


“Deab Alf. he wrote, “It is of the utmost importance that I 
should see you immediately. You will see in the papers the verdict of 
the coroner’s jury, and I assure you that it is a shameful thing. The 
evidence was entirely circumstantial, and by no means as strong as in 
favor of the supposition that the murderer entered the window. Alf. 
I found my letter to you in the althea bushes by the gate. How did it 
come there ? I did not speak of it to the coroner, but you must explain 
it to me. Understand me — I am your friend, and desire to aid you as 
well as Cecy. I think that I understand your presence there. I know 
you went to see her, and, in all probability were away before the murder 
occurred ; but you may have seen some one about there. At any rate 
the finding of this letter is an ugly fact, if I am forced to disclose it. 

' “We must save Miss Morgan. Come down to-morrow as early as 
you can. Keep your heart up, and let us devote our energies to solv- 
ing this problem. I am satisfied that Trippe knows something about 
it. He now lies unconscious in another room. 

“ Come as soon as j'ou can, for we must try to keep this from the 
grand jury. Alf. do you need funds ? From what you wrote before, I 
infer that you wanted that sum for a special purpose — a debt perhaps. 
Do not fear to tell me, for I have been in that fix myself. On second 
thought, I will inclose an order for $200 on my merchants. They have 
some two thousand and odd dollars of mine on hand, and will let you 
have any sum you need. 

“Cecy is still unconscious, but Pierce thinks she is not in danger. I 
know you will want to rush to her side in this trouble, but come here 
first. I must speak to you. 

“Don’t be disheartened. 

“ Very truly, your friend, 

“William Stannaed.” 


It was near ten o’clock on the following day ere 
this letter came to Alfred Guerry. During the night 
he had slept little — indeed, it was near daylight 
when he arrived in Macon from Echaconnee. 

It was in vain that he strove to sleep ; and after 


THE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE. 


133 


tossing about for an hour or two upon liis bed, he 
had given up in despair. 

Trembling in every limb, pale, a mere ghost of 
his former self, he dared not enter the breakfast- 
room until nearly all of the guests had gone. 

A few strangers remained, but none that recog- 
nized him, and going to the farther corner of the 
room, he sat with his back to the door. 

For many hours he had been without food, yet 
now he could not eat, and sat with bowed head, 
balancing the spoon upon the rim of his cup. The 
morning paper was before him, but he dared not 
open it, fearing to read there what he most dreaded, 
the arrest of old Hawks. A brave man would have 
sought the worst at once ; but Guerry was not a 
brave man, and he had lingered over the fears that 
throughout this dreadful night had kept him in a 
state of alarm until the reality seemed too hard for 
him to, bear. 

And what if old Hawks were now in the hands of 
the authorities? 

One glimpse of that old man’s face racked with 
agony, peering at him through the bushes; one 
sound of that imploring voice, had reached his ears, 
and no effort on his part could banish them from 
his mind. 

Old Hawks had begged him for aid, but a glance 
at that bloody face had terrified him, and leaving 
the old man to his fate, he had fled to save himself. 

Could he expect that Hawks would show him any 
mercy now? 

Such were the thoughts that flashed through 
Guerry ’s brain as he held the paper in his hand, 
fearing to And, what he most dreaded to find, the 
arrest of that old man who had been his accomplice 
in crime. 

At length he glanced at the report of the Echa- 
connee murder, and running his eye rapidly down 
the column, was greatly relieved to And that 
Hawks’ name was not there. Going back, he read 
the report more carefully through, and with a great 
sense of relief. 

Presently he paused, and the hand which held the 


134 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


paper fell upon the table, while the deathly paleness 
of his face was relieved by a crimson flush. His 
heart began to beat more freely. 

For the moment he felt happier than he had been 
for many hours. 

Was it owing to the natural wickedness of his 
heart, or to the weakness of his mind, that he felt a 
sense of joy when he read the verdict of the 
coroner’s jury? Let us judge him as kindly as we 
can, pitying him for his weakness. He had feared 
the arrest of old Hawks, knowing that it would be 
ruin ; but now there was a hope that he might get 
the old outlaw away. 

“ I must get him away — it is a matter of life and 
death to me,” Guerry said to himself; “but how am 
I to raise the money. Money ! What a cursed thing 
it is to have none.” 

Like many men in his condition, Guerry called 
upon Heaven to aid him, trying to make a compact 
with his Creator, that, if money was given him now, 
he would never sin again. 

“It would all be over if I could get him out of the 
way,” he thought, bitterly. “They cannot prove 
anything against Cecy, and she loves me well 
enough to bear a trial to save me. If she knew all 
I know she would say so. I will repay her by and 
by for all the trouble that she has.” 

His ideas of compensation were vague, indeed, 
but he could safely promise for the future if he 
could get present help. 

At that moment Stannard’s letter caught his eye, 
and he hastily broke the seal. 

Two or three times he read one clause, and for 
some time he sat dreaming over it. Here was a 
chance of escape — could he avail himself of it? His 
evil genius whispered words of hope in his ear that 
were very sweet, and he turned a deaf ear to the 
good angel, even then trying to draw him away. 

With his usual amount of forethought, Guerry 
made up his mind to take advantage of the oppor- 
tunity that had been thrown in" his way; and, 
leaving his breakfast untouched, hurried to his 
office. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


135 


For once, he thought, when rubbing up some 
India-ink, fortune had favored him ; and it seemed 
to be a good omen for the future. Stannard had left 
him little to do. It required but one cipher to give 
him the money that he needed to get old Hawks 
away, and that cipher he added with a skill that 
defied detection. Even the allusion which Stannard 
had made to the sum in the hands of his merchants 
was favorable to his plan. 

It took not long to complete the trifling task that 
had been left him, and he prepared his things to 
spend some time away — how long, he could not tell. 
Writing upon his slate that he had gone into the 
country for a few days, Guerry locked his office 
door, and went to the office of Stannard’s merchant. 
They received him cordially. 

“ I came for some money for Colonel Stan- 
nard ” 

“Certainly, Mr. Guerry. We have just received 
a letter from the colonel regarding the matter.” 

Guerry’s heart sank as he heard this, and he 
thanked fortune that he had not shown the order ; 
but the next words reassured him. 

“We understand it perfectly, Mr. Guerry. Colonel 
Stannard instructs us to advance you what you 
need. How much will you have to-day?” 

“Did not Colonel Stannard speak of this order?” 

“He spoke of one; have you it?” 

“With a strong effort to keep his hand steady, 
Guerry handed the order across the desk. 

“ Colonel Stannard wrote you by the early train. 
I left him afterward, and came up on the second 
train. On second thought he concluded to give me 
an order for this amount as he had some bills to 
meet.” 

“I suppose iVs all right, Mr. Guerry. We know 
you, an*d that is sufficient guarantee for this order. 
When do you return to Echaconnee?” 

“By the first train.” 

“A dreadful affair that at Morgan’s. Of course 
you ” 

The merchant hesitated to complete his sentence, 
for he remembered that Guerry was to marry Miss 


136 


THE ILLEGAL MAEBIAGE. 


Morgan, and feared that even an allusion to her 
guilt might give him pain. 

‘‘It is, indeed,” Guerry remarked, as he took the 
money from the cashier’s hand. 

“ I suppose you will remain at Echaconnee for the 
present, Mr. Guerry — are you engaged in this case?” 

“I shall probably he the junior counsel,” he re- 
marked, and, not desiring to prolong the interview, 
hastened to say good-day. 

“I can appreciate his delicacy,” the merchant 
thought, as Alfred left the house. “ It is a dreadful 
position for a young fellow like him.” 

Fortune had favored him. Busily engaged in 
trying to clear Cecy Morgan, it might be weeks 
before Stannard could find out the sum that had 
been drawn upon his order, and meantime Alfred 
hoped to restore it. How this was to be done he 
had no definite idea ; but there was no help for it 
now, and he must carry himself boldly to the end. 
In. truth, so intent was he upon this one hope of 
safety which now presented itself, that his mind 
would not dwell upon the future. 

With the price of safety in his pocket, Alfred 
Guerry rode away from the city, and at nightfall, 
stood in the Echaconnee woods. ' 

For some time he waited, giving at intervals the 
signals which old Hawks had taught him, but 
without eliciting response. 

Night was fast coming on. Turning to the old 
pine, beneath which he had before met Hawks, 
Guerry saw that it had been blazed afresh, and 
fancied that there was a signal upon the white sur- 
face. Striking a match, Guerry looked at the blaze, 
and saw these words written upon the wood, in 
pencil, and by a hand that he knew too well. 

“ B. swamp, dry-bridge, K. 25 paces cypress blazed, 50 paces — 0. 
log. Sig.” 

Transferring this to his note-book, Guerry effaced 
the letters with his knife, and started for the Echa- 
connee swamp. 

It was some two miles to the dry-bridge, but he 


THE ILLEGAL MAERIAGE. 


137 


had to .make a long detour in order to avoid the 
cattle, and to keep under cover of the woods. 

Standing at the end of the bridge, he started to 
the right, pushing his way through the thick growth 
of the swamp for twenty-five paces. The blazed 
cypress was in his way, and a little to the right a 
narrow path, above which the boughs formed a 
natural arbor. He crouched low to enter this nar- 
row path, and crept along it until the fallen cotton- 
wood obstructed the path. 

It Avas intensely dark, and only now and then the 
feeble light of "the stars fell through the dense 
foliage of the swamp. Sitting upon the cotton-wood 
to rest, Alfred saw that he was in an open space, 
completely surrounded by a thick swampy growth. 
On the left arose a hill, above the tops of the bushes, 
and, just where the rise began, was a huge pile of 
fallen trees. 

To saA^e his life, Alfred could go no farther into 
that SAvamp, and even iioav his heart was fast sink- 
ing. The dismal sounds of the night, the lonely cry 
of the Avhip-poor-will, the hoot of an owl, or the quick 
rustle of the bushes at his feet Avhere some moccasin 
had been disturbed, were terrors that he could not 
long endure. 

He gave a signal, receivingmo response, but after 
repeating it a feAv times heard a feeble cry. A deep 
groan folloAved, making Guerry’s hair rise beneath 
liis hat from fright. 

“Hawks!” he called, softly. “Where are you?” 

“ Here. Come this way — oh !” 

A long groan interrupted the voice, but Alfred 
Avalked in its direction. 

“Climb over the logs,” again groaned old HaAvks; 
and, craAvling upon his hands and knees, Alfred 
ma(le his Avay until a wider space disclosed the faint 
glimmer of "a candle. Guided by the voice Avithin, 
he let himself down between the logs, and puslied 
open a narroAv door, letting him into a dimly- 
lighted cabin. 

Partly formed by an excavation into the sand-hill, 
partly by the pile of fallen trees, Avas a room some 
eight feet long, in which Avere tv.^o or three pieces 


138 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAOE. 


of furniture, arranged with a rude attempt at com- 
fort. candle in a block of wood was burning 
beside a low pallet. 

Guerry started back with horror as he saw old 
Hawks lying there, haggard as death, and covered 
with blood. In his side was a dreadful wound, 
which the old man was covering with a cloth, after 
returning to his bed. 

“Have you brought me food?” Hawks asked, 
quickly, with a voice between a growl and a groan. 

“No, Hawks; how should I know that you needed 
it? I’ve brought you the money.” 

“Curse your money, and you too. I want some- 
thing to eat — I want some whisky — I want a doctor — 
go and get them, you young hound, or I’ll beat your 
brains out.” 

“How can I get a doctor, Hawks? There’s none 
here now.” 

“Well, go bring me something to eat. A nice one 
you are, to leave a man to die this way.” 

“But, Hawks ” 

“ Git out of this — go get me some food, or I’ll mur- 
der yer.” 

Reaching his hand behind him, old Hawks drew 
out a rifle, and Guerry sprang to the door. 

“ Look-a-here, young man, you come back here in 
no time, or else I’ll rouse the neighbors — d’ye hear?” 

“I’ll come back as soon as I can, Hawks. I have 
to go a long way to get anything for }"ou — remember 
that.” 

“You just git it quick, and come back quick, d’ye 
hear? I’m a dying man, but ef you don’t stand by 
me. I’ll put you in the way of a bangin’ ’fore I do 
go.” 

“Hawks; you don’t suppose I would leave you 
now, do^mu? I didn’t know that you were hit at 
all.” 

“You lie, you young cub! Go git me that 
whisky.” 

The old man pointed his rifle at the door, and 
Guerry hastily drew himself up on the logs. It was 
after midnight now, but the sky was clearer, and 
the stars shone brightly through the trees, He saw 


139 





THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 

* 

a better way of exit, and, pushing through the 
young cottonwoods, climbed up the hill. 

In the distance he saw the dark walls of the castle 
rising against the sky, and the light in one room, 
there, pointed out to him Cecy’s sick chamber. 







i 


i 

) 

\ 

} 


i 


I 

i 

t 

\ 


140 


THE ILLEGAL MAIUIIAOE, 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IN JAIL. 

Three days after the murder at the castle the body 
of old More:an was laid in the grave, the Rev. Daniel 
Guerry performing the last rites of Christian burial. 

Miss Morgan was still very low, and, although 
consciousness had partially returned, the doctor had 
ordered absolute quiet in a darkened room. All 
reference to the death of her father was forbidden, 
and not even Stannard was permitted to enter her 
room. He longed to ask her just one question, but, 
acting under the doctor’s orders, the white nurse 
had refused him. 

Upon Stannard devolved the care of the estate, 
and, acting for Cecy as if she were a sister, he had 
sent for the family lawyer to get his advice. 

Stannard was taking the lawyer to Morgan’s desk, 
an hour or two after the funeral, when Doctor 
Pierce came in. 

“How is Trippe, Ham; any change in him?” 

“None for the worse, certainly. It is a little too 
soon to say that he is getting better.” 

“Here is the will,” said the lawyer, as he took the 
document from the desk, and ran his eyes over it. 

“Oh, yes;” said Stannard, quickly, “Ham, I must 
see Miss Morgan. It is absolutely necessary that I 
should say a few words to her.” 

“ It is not likely she would understand them if you 
did.” 

“ But see here, I have no authority to act for her, 
and she should ” 

“ What is the use, I ask you, Mr. Martin, if there 
is any one who has a better right?” 

“A moment ago, colonel, I should have been in 
favor of appealing to Miss Morgan; now I agree 
with the doctor.” 

_“Why so?” asked Stannard, as he saw some hid- 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


141 


den meaning in the words. “ Why do you say so 
now.” 

“Because the property is yours.” 

Stannard snatched the will from Martin’s hands, 
and ran over it hastily, finding that this was true. 
Morgan had left the estate to him without reserve, 
leaving it to his honor to provide for Cecy. For one 
moment he paused, then tore the will in pieces. 

“Oh, colonel, what have you done!” exclaimed 
the lawyer. 

“ It is a mistake, Martin, all a mistake. That will 
was made under a false impression. Under no cir- 
cumstances would I take one dollar of this property 
— it belongs to his natural heir, and not to me.” 

Pierce sprang forward and grasped his hand. 
“God bless you, Stannard, I honor you for it. As 
poor as I am, I could not have taken the money from 
her.” 

“It was a mistake,” said Stannard again. “Mar- 
tin, you need not pick up the pieces, for I will not 
have the estate.” 

“ Colonel, let me say a word to you. Miss Morgan 
is engaged to a young man, whom her father dis- 
liked, and who is, I firmly believe, only anxious to 
get this property.” 

“You too, Martin ! What do you know against 
him?” 

“Perhaps I cannot tell in words, but I distrust 
him. He may be a good man ; if so I will beg his 
pardon ; but I want you to wait until this matter is 
settled before giving up your claim. Promise me 
to do this, and I will join you in all you wish.” 

“Have you seen Guerry?” asked fterce. 

“No, he has not yet been to see her. Yesterday I 
left word at his father’s for him to come over at 
once, and I hope to see him to-day.” 

“Colonel Stannard,” continued Martin, “I have a 
purpose in this, and again ask you to agree to it. 
Miss Morgan need know nothing of it.” 

“As you wish, Martin. I shall not see her suffer 
in any way; but beyond that, have your own way.” 

The doctor went into Miss Morgan’s room, and 
found her much better. She was sitting up in bed, 


142 


THE ILLEGAL 3IARRIAGE. 


looking brighter than at any time since that fatal 
night. It was with no little difficulty that Pierce 
got her promise to ask no questions, hut she gave it 
at last, and he left her feeling that she would 
scarcely need his services after that day. 

For the next three days Cecy improved rapidly, 
and was able to walk about her room. Sitting at 
the window, looking out upon her neglected garden, 
she tried to recall the events of the past month. 
That her father was dead she knew now, and was 
waiting anxiously for the doctor to remove his pro- 
hibition, so that she could ask a thousand things 
that perplexed her, 

Stannard spent the greater part of his time at the 
castle, and proved a true friend to Cecy; but he 
dreaded the time when he should be forced to break 
the dreadful news to her. 

At length the day came when she was well 
enough to travel, and Raborn grew pressing. Stan- 
nard found her sitting by the window, with her 
cheek upon her hand. Her first inquiry was for 
Alfred Guerry. 

“He is in Macon, Cecy. I have just received a 
letter from him. He wants to come to you, he 
says.” 

“Poor fellow! I know he does. Tell him — tell him 
from me that I hope to see him soon ; but say that it 
is best to wait a little.” 

Stannard had not told her what Guerry had 
written to him of illness, but promised to give him 
her message. 

“ I hope he will come down to-morrow — I am look- 
ing for him.” 

She had been told that Doctor Trippe was ill, and 
now inquired cordially for him. 

“I must tell her,” Stannard thought, “but how 
can I begin.” 

“Cecy, my friend,” he said, aloud, “you must trust 
me in this, your sorrow— let me be a brother to 
you. ” 

A look of pain swept across her face, but soon 
passed away. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


143 


Let me help you, Cecy. Confide in me and I will 
thank you for it.” 

His manner, earnest and impressive as it was, 
affected her more than his words, and whispering a 
“Heaven bless you,” she took his hand and carried 
it to her lips. 

“I cannot tell her,”' bethought, “it is too had — 
too bad.” 

He could not summon the resolution, and went 
out to join Raborn on the porch. 

“Have you told her?” the latter asked. 

“Raborn, I could not; my heart failed me.” 

“Then I shall have it to do.” 

“ Give me one more day — give me until to-morrow, 
and I will tell her.” 

Raborn agreed to this, and Stannard rode home, 
deeply affected. “I would give my right arm,” he 
cried, “if I could save her from this.” 

The day was far advanced ere Stannard came, on 
the following morning to the castle, and entered 
Cecy’s room. She was seated by the window, with 
some needlework in her lap. Her neatly-fitting 
black dress, with white collar and cuffs fastened 
with jet brooch and buttons, made her sad face look 
more beautiful than ever to his eyes ; but as he con- 
tinued to gaze upon her face, he saw the traces of 
care, and knew that suffering had told upon her. 

Cecy greeted him kindly, and extended her hand. 

“Excuse me for not rising. Colonel Stannard.” 

“Certainly. Pray do not move,” he said, drawing 
a chair near her own. 

“Ah! colonel, that look tells me a secret. You 
think it is because I am weak ; but you are mis- 
taken. I’m quite strong now— but you see I have 
my lap full of work.” 

“I am glad to hear you say so, Cecy,” he replied; 
yet in his heart he felt that he was far from glad at 
her rapid recovery. 

Very pleasantly she chatted to him, and he 
listened in silence, scarcely heeding what she said. 
Cecy observed that his mind was wandering, and 
that his eyes were looking away into the land of 
thought. 


144 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAQE. 


“ISTowthat is too bad,” she said, gayly, rallying 
him; “this is the second time that you have an- 
swered yes, when I’m sure you mean no. Are you 
building a castle? Will you make me chatelaine?” 

Stannard started when thus recalled to himself, 
and his face grew pale as he looked at her pleasant 
smile. In an instant she saw that he was distressed, 
and. dropping her work, took his hand. 

“Pray excuse me for speaking so; I was wrong.” 
“He is thinking of the woman he loves,” she 
thought — “would that I could speak of her to him.” 
“William — something is wrong with you, some- 
thing troubles you — is the doctor worse!” 

“He is no worse, Cecy — on the contrary. Pierce 
thinks he is improving. But he will not be up for 
some weeks, at best.” 

“What then — may I not ask you? What is it that 
troubles you? Will you not let me offer the poor 
solace of my sympathy?” 

“ Oh ! Cecy, you do not know what you ask of me.” 
He paused for a moment and turned his head 
away from her, while she looked at him with mute 
appeal. He saw it as he again caught her eye. 
“Cecy, can you bear a great sorrow?” 

“Have I not already done so?” 

“Yes, but this is different.” 

She saw that he was agitated. 

“It must be about me,” she mused, “he would not 
show bis own trouble so.” 

And her quick mind flew from one thing to an- 
other, trying to conjure up some greater sorrow 
that could come to her. Was it of Alfred? That he 
could be untrue, never entered her head; she would 
have doubted Heaven as soon as him. Had some- 
thing happened to him? It was with a trembling 
voice, therefore, that she asked if it was about Mr. 
Guerry. 

“Ho. Cecy,” he replied, “it is about yourself 
alone.” 

The words gave her inexpressible relief, and she 
looked up proudly as she said : 

“I can bear anything that concerns me alone.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


145 


“It is her innocence that speaks,” thought Stan- 
nard; “she has not an evil thought.” 

The reflection made his task still harder, and he 
hesitated to speak of that terrible verdict. Once 
more she took his hand. 

“Though a woman, William, I am no coward. 
Do not fear to tell me anything that you think I 
ought to know.” 

“Cecy,” he began at last, his voice shaking with 
emotion, “do you remember your father’s last 
words?” 

“I don’t think that I do; at least I cannot, recall 
them now. I remember that he said something 
wliich frightened me.” 

Not yet had memory returned to her so that she 
could recall the events of that night. 

“Try to think, Cecy,” he said, kindly; “do you 
not remember that he said you had killed him?” 

“Did he say that?” she asked, quickly. “I don’t 
remember — my mind was very much confused.” 

Slie sighed deeply, and musingly continued : 

“ Poor papa, he thought that I did not do right — 
but Heaven knows I did try to.” 

“Heavens!” thought Stannard, “to think this 
pure, this innocent girl is accused of murder. It 
makes me a coward to speak to her of the charge.” 

“I know you did — I am sure you did, Cecy,” he 
said to her; “but did you never think how his words 
might affect others?” 

“Never. I did not know of them until this mo- 
ment.” 

Her voice faltered as she said it, for already a 
glimmer of the truth was breaking on her mind. 

“ Do they say that I— that I was the cause of his 
death ?” 

“Worse than that— Cecy, they say you killed 
him.” 

He had said it at last, but sat trembling before 
lier. Springing to lier feet, scatteidng the work 
upon the floor, she clasped her hands upon her 
bosom. 

“ Oh, how could they ! How could they think so 


146 


THE ILLEGAL MAliBIAGK 


badly of me? Did they not see that he had com- 
mitted suicide in his delirium? But he did not know 
what he was doing,” she added, sadly. 

“They thought that you had killed him.” 

“No, no, William, don’t tell me that! Don’t say 
that! How could I do such a thing?” she cried, in 
her distress. 

He took her hands and gently drew her down into 
the chair ; but she bowed her head upon her hands, 
and sobbed bitterly. 

As well as he could, Stannard explained the cir- 
cumstances to her, shoAving her why he, also, sup- 
posed that a murder had been committed. 

“ That broken window, Cecy ” 

She started suddenly, throwing up her finger as if 
trying to recall some incident of that night. Like a 
forgotten dream it came to her, and she remem- 
bered the face that she had seen looking through 
the vines. 

“Yes,” she said, presently, “the broken window.” 
“ That broken window was not the only evidence 
that strangers were about the house that night. 
M}" opinion was that a man entered the Avindow, and 
that you fainted when he attacked your father.” 

“ Do you think that a man could have killed my 
father and I knoAv nothing of it?” 

“It might be.” 

“Stay ! Did I dream of a face at that AvindoAv?” 
She pressed her finger against her broAv, and 
made a strong effort to recall some dim impression 
on her mind. 

“Did they say that I called for help? It seems to 
me noAv that I did see some one at the AvindoAv, and 
that I cried to him for aid. I remember nothing 
more. I haA^e often dreamed of that face, but 
thought it only a dream.” 

“Would 5^ou knoAv it again, Cecy?” 

“Oh, yes; lam sure that I should. I cannot for- 
get the impression that one look made upon me.” 

“I Avas sure that some one came into the yard that 
night. One of the servants sa,Av a strange man — a 
young man, he said— hanging about the place.” 

In an instant it came to her then, and she remem^ 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


147 


berecl the meeting with her lover. It must have 
been Alfred they had seen. What if suspicion 
should fall upon him also? Her heart nearly ceased 
beating at the thought. There seemed but one 
course for Cecy now — she must discredit the idea of 
murder — and her resolution was speedily taken. 

“ I can recall more now than I have been able to 
do at any time,” she said, presently, “and I am sure 
you are wrong. Poor papa did not know what he 
was doing, and was going to kill me at first. It 
was then I fainted. When I opened my eyes again 
I was sure he had been stabbing himself. William, 
I feel certain that papa killed himself after he 
thought that he had killed me.” 

“It maybe you are right, Cecy. We are doing 
all we can to clear up the matter. I am going to 
send for a detective.” 

“Pray do not — I had rather you would not do 
that.” 

“ Why not, Cecy ? Why should we not try to save 
you from this dreadful trial?” 

“Because an innocent person might be suspected.” 

A deep blush suffused her face, and Stannard 
understood her motive. 

“ I knew she would do that,” he thought; “I was 
certain of it when I withheld that letter.” 

He yielded to her then, but foresaw a time to 
come when he could find no excuse for so doing. 

Cecy wept freel}^ when he told her of the verdict, 
of the constable’s presence, and that she had to go 
to Perry until the matter could be settled. But one 
thing kept her spirits up, and that was the thought 
that she was to suffer for the sake of shielding her 
lover. All her tears were for him, and her heart 
ached as she thought of his sorrow when he heard 
of her arrest for this dreadful crime. 

Stannard could not bear her grief, and walked to 
the window ; but in a moment returned to her side 
and rested his hand upon her chair. 

“Cecy, trust me now, will you not? Bely on me, 
and I will do for you all that I could do for my own 
sister. It will alf come right in the end.” 


148 


TBE ILLEGAL MABRIAGE. 


“I do trust you,” she sobbed; “I do rely on you. I 
will do whatever you tell me. When must I go?” 

“To-morrow, Raborn says, 1 will drive with you 
in the carriage; he shall ride my horse.” 

“How good you are to me, William. I can never 
repay your kindness to me. You can never know 
how much I appreciate your sympathy.” 

He bade her good-day and, sick at heart, went 
into the open air. 

“How could they have been such fools?” he said 
to himself, somewhat illogically, as his mind re- 
verted to the coroner’s verdict. “How could they 
have thrown aside all probabilities?” 

Consoling himself with the reflection that his 
friend Crawford would set the matter right, he rode 
at a smashing pace homeward. 

That night Stannard wrote to his friend and 
lawyer, Peyton Crawford, giving him an account of 
the case, and asking him to come to Perry as soon 
as he could — the next day if possible. 

The morning came — the last morning that Cecy 
was to spend at home for many long months — and 
Stannard rode over to the castle. The carriage was 
already at the gate. Passing up the walk he saw 
Cecy, with her bonnet on, waiting for him ; and 
with a cheerful smile she came out to meet him in 
the hall. 

“Take your own time, Cecy; there is no hurry,” 
he said to her, as she closed the door of her chamber 
as if for the last time. 

“I am ready now, William. If I have to go, the 
sooner the better. Farewell, you dear old place. 
Good-by,” she said to the servants who were weep- 
ing in the hall. 

The faithful creatures could bear it no longer, 
and weeping and moaning, some screaming in hys- 
terics, they fell at her feet and kissed the skirts of 
her dress. 

Offering her hand to each in turn, she sprang 
away from them and ran down the walk. Stan- 
nard’s eyes were wet with tears as he gave his hand 
to help her in the carriage. Her foot was already 
on the step, but turning suddenly, she ran to the 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


149 


fence, and returned with a sprig of althea in her 
hand. Just touching it to her lips, Cecy placed the 
sprig in her bosom and entered the coach. 

“That was a sad ride,” Stannard said to himself, 
for many a day thereafter. “ It was a sad ride — 
perhaps the saddest that I ever had in my life. 
Yet how well she bore it!” 

For a few miles he endeavored to entertain her ; 
but she was silent and sorrowful. He saw that it 
was only with a great effort she conversed or 
listened to him, and that it would be charitable to 
leave her to herself. With a few cheerful words he 
left her for a seat with the driver, and lighting a 
cigar, he smoked the weary miles away. 


150 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ALFRED GUERRY INDUCES MISS MORGAN TO GIVE HIM 
THE CONTROL OF HER PROPERTY. 

It was a great relief to Stannard’s mind when, 
toward nightfall, he saw the houses grow more 
numerous along the road, and at length the town 
itself. 

The sun was down and the night fast coming on 
when they drove into Perry, the county seat of 
Houston. But if he had rejoiced to find the journey 
drawing to a close, his heart fell as Raborn stopped 
the carriage before the county jail. 

Without a word, Cecy left the carriage and en- 
tered the door of her prison. Stannard went in to 
speak to the jailer, and succeeded in winning his 
sympathy so that he promised a private room, and 
the attention of his wife. After seeing this room, 
Stannard bade her good-night and drove to the 
hotel. But he was uneasy and restless ; his room 
oppressed him ; and taking a cup of tea only, he 
lighted a cigar and went out for a walk. 

Cecy had borne herself nobly through this terrible 
trial, and even in her little prison room spoke cheer- 
fully of it, declaring that it was better than she had 
expected. Before Stannard she would not show her 
grief. 

“If I give up,” she said to herself ; “if my courage 
fails me, it will make him feel all the worse — and 
he is so good to me.” 

But when the door was closed upon him her 
powers of endurance failed entirely. Throwing her- 
self at full length upon the little pallet, Cecy buried 
her face in the pillow and wept without restraint. 

It was a dreadful thought that she was in prison 
for such a crime ; yet her distress did not proceed 
from any fear of consequences to herself. Her 
thoughts were all of him who must be nearly 


151 




THE ILLEGAL AIABEIAQE. 

breaking his heart over her troubles, and she tried 
to imagine his feelings when he heard of her arrest. 

“I shall soon see him,” she said to herself; “he 
will soon be near me, at least. Could I know that 
he is in this town I would not murmur.” 

There was not a suspicion of his loyalty in lier 
mind; and she felt that, as sure as he was alive, 
Alfred would rush to her side. For a moment she 
did wonder why he had not been to see her at 
home; but love makes many excuses, and she soon 
held him guiltless. 

The jailer’s wife brought in a cup of tea, and 
tried to be of service to her ; but Ceuy declined her 
aid for tlie night, promising to ask for anything that 
she might want in the morning. 

Still the woman lingered by the door. 

“ The sheets are fresh, miss, I had them well aired 
myself,” she said, with an effort to show sympathy. 
“We use this room for our own friends — none of 
them,” pointing through the wall toward the prison- 
ers’ cells, “none of them ever get in here. I putt lie 
water in fresh for you. Do you drink cistern water, 
miss?” 

“Oh, yes,” Cecy answered, wearily; “it is all the 
same to me. You are very good. I shall not want 
anything to-night.” 

“Miss Morgan, I don’t think any harm of you 
anyway. I’m so sorry you are here. Mayn’t 1 do 
something for you?” 

“Believe me, Mrs. — Mrs. ” 

“Harris.” 

“Mrs. Harris, believe me, I want nothing to-night. 
The greatest kindness that you can do me is to 
leave me to myself.” 

The kind-hearted woman looked at her sadly, and 
turned toward the door. 

“Stay,” Cecy said, before she had closed the 
door; “perhaps you can do me a service. If a note 
comes for me bring it up at once — never mind how 
late. Can you do that for me, Mrs. Harris?” 

“Indeed I will, miss ; I’ll do anything for you.” 
feared it might be against the rules. Do not 


152 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


hesitate to refuse me, Mrs. Harris, if I ask anything 
wliich you may not grant.” 

The key grated in the lock as the jailer’s wife 
closed the door, sending the cold chills through 
Cecy’s frame; and casting her eyes up at the 
narrow window she saw that it was iron-barred. 

For the first time since her arrival Cecy fully real- 
ized that she was in prison awaiting trial for murder. 

Stannard had written to Alfred Guerry on the 
morning of the day that he had told Cecy of the 
charge against her, and the letter had reached him 
about the hour that they were starting for Echa- 
connee. Thus far he had avoided Stannard on the 
plea of illness. 

“I took cold,” he wrote, some days after the 
murder ; “ I took cold coming from home, here, and 
have been laid up ever since. 1 would come to your 
house at once if I could ; but am confined to my 
room. 

“ I can explain to you about the letter. I did go 
to see Cecy that night, but left before it was fairly 
dark. I missed the letter, and would have gone 
back for it, had I thought it of the slightest conse- 
quence. I do not see that it can serve any good 
purpose to make this public ; but if you think so, 
let me know before vou do. 

“ I got some money from your merchants, and will 
soon repay you. Please keep me informed of all 
that transpires, until I am well enough to join you.” 

Stannard Imd not a suspicion of the truth of these 
words ; but had he known that Guerry’s eyes were 
peering at him from the swamp, every time he rode 
over to the castle, Stannard could not have doubted 
that it was his duty to put the detectives on this 
track. 

Guerry knew that he had nothing to fear from 
Stannard. The last letter, giving an account of 
Cecy’s trouble when told of the verdict, was an 
anxious one to him. The time had come when he 
must act a part before those he had wronged or lose 
her forever. 

Promising old Hawks to return in two days at 
the most, he made ample provision for his absence, 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


153 


and started for Perry. He arrived there just as 
Stannard was returning from his walk. 

Guerry was strangely excited as he took Stan- 
nard ’s offered hand, and quickly asked for Cecy. 

The usual crowd of tavern loungers began to 
crowd around them, hoping to catch some words 
about the Echaconnee murder. Stannard started 
toward the hall. 

“Come away, Alf,” he said, in a low tone; “come 
to my room. We cannot talk here.” 

“Tell me first, Stannard — I want to see her.” 

“Not to-night— it is impossible. They would not 
let you in.” 

“Who would not let me in? Where is she stay- 
ing?” he asked, petulantly, tapping his boot nerv- 
ously with his riding-whip. 

“At the jail.” 

“In jail!” he cried; “In jail! Oh, Stannard!” 

He could say no more, but turning to a pillar, 
bowed his head against it. Cecy Morgan in jail, 
when he had the power to release her! At that 
moment the enormity of his offenses came home to 
him. 

“ Come in, Alf ; come — we are attracting a crowd 
here.” 

The last words were said in an undertone, but 
permitting Stannard to take his arm, the miserable 
man walked into the office. At the stairs he paused ; 
feeling as he did then, he dare not talk with Stan- 
nard about the murder. 

“One moment,” he said, “Stannard, at least I 
may send my card to her, so she can get it early in 
the morning.” 

“ Perhaps you had better. It may spare her a few 
unhappy moments.” 

“Leave me to-night, Stannard, I cannot talk with 
you. I have been ill, and this has quite upset me. 
1 did not think she would be there.” 

“It is best, perhaps,” Stannard replied, “her own 
sense of delicacy v/ould keep her from going to a 
private house in charge of a constable. She is very 
comfortable there, she says.” 


154 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE. 


“ May be you are right. Let me leave you now, 
please ; I will see you to-morrow.” 

The two men separated for the night, but not to 
sleep. It was late when Guerry entered, but for 
some hours after Stannard heard him pacing up 
and down his room. 

'‘Poor fellow,” he thought. “I sympathize with 
him fully. I do not wonder that he was excited. I 
could cry like a child over her sorrows, just now; 
and he must find them harder to bear.” 

Meantime, Cecy sat upon her pallet, deep in 
thought. 

“ To-morroAv will be a happy day with me if he 
comes. I have so much to say to him.” 

The grating of the key in the lock interrupted her 
reverie, and Mrs. Harris came in with a candle. 
She held out a card to Cecy; with a joyful bound she 
sprang forward to take it, and read there the name 
of her lover. A few words were written to tell her 
that he should come to her in the morning, and 
telling her to keep her spirits up — words that 
brought comfort and cheer to Cecy’s heart. 

“He is all I have in the world to love me,” she 
said, sadly, as she went back to her little bed. “ I 
can sleep now, with this hope for to-morrow.” 

And, placing the card beneath her pillow, she did 
sleep as calmly as if in her own luxurious chamber 
at Echaconnee. 

Stannard found the room empty when he went to 
see Guerry on the following morning. For the pur- 
pose of avoiding him Alfred had started early, and 
for some hours walked in the country beyond the 
town. 

Cecy had long waited for him when she heard 
his step upon the stair. He had gone there hoping 
to get relief from all the difficulties that then sur- 
rounded him. 

“She loves me to distraction,” he flattered him- 
self, “and will do whatever I say. With her au- 
thority tp act for the estate, I can raise the money I 
need. She will not refuse me.” 

• Hot a doubt entered his mind that Cecy would 
now give him entire control of her property, and he 


THE ILLEGAL MARTtlAGE. 


155 


went into her presence with a lighter heart than 
had throbbed in his breast for many a day. 

At length she heard his step at the door. With 
both hands pressed upon her bosom, to still the 
beatings of her heart; with parted lips and wide 
open eyes, she stood as lie entered, and came toward 
her with extended arms; and then she somehow 
found her head upon his breast, but dimly conscious 
of the words that he was whispering in her ear. 

It was a blissful moment to her then, and scarcely 
dared she move for fear of destroying the illusion. 
It was true, she thought, that she had no one in the 
wide world but him to console and sympatliize with 
her. Yes, there was one other on whom she could 
rely ; but his heart was given to another, and she 
had no claim upon him. 

“I can offer you one chair, Alfred,” she said, 
cheerily ; “sit here by me while I 'occupy my pallet.” 

“Oh, Cecy, I am so sorry to see you here.” 

“It cannot be helped now, Alfred — they will not 
keep me long. You know that I am innocent, and 
the truth must be known sooner or later. Alfred, 
were you shot on that dreadful night — were you 
badly hurt?” 

“I was not hit at all.” 

“Not at all? Why did you cry out so? Were you 
frightened for me?” 

“I did not cry out, Cecy; I did not think you in 
danger. I was half a mile away when I heard the 
gun.” 

She looked into his eyes, and for a moment felt a 
shade of disappointment, as she thought that he 
had gone away and left her to struggle alone with 
a maniac. 

“Alfred, then they are right— my father was 
murdered.” 

He had not thought before to what her questions 
were leading, but was now on his guard. 

“I thought that he killed himself; but, Alfred, as 
sure as we live, he shot some one in the garden. I 
heard him groan and cry out — then I saw a face at 
the window before I fainted.” 

She described the face to him so clearly that he 


156 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


could not fail to recognize the portrait of old 
Hawks. A deathly pallor overspread his face, and 
he could not repress a shudder. 

Cecy was startled by the sudden change in him, 
and instinctively shrank from his side. For the 
first time there came into her heart a doubt of her 
own love. 

“Alfred,” she said, “what is the matter? Do you 
know anything about it.” 

“ Oh, no, no, Cecy ; do you suppose I should let 
you suffer here if I did?” 

His voice was hoarse and shaking, but he took 
her hand and drew her nearer to him. 

“Don’t speak of that, Cecy; I cannot bear it. I 
feel as if your life was again menaced. Oh, why 
did I leave you that night?” 

His distress seemed real. Was it, indeed, for her 
that he trembled? His words reassured her, but 
never again could she forget the phantom which 
came between them at that moment. 

“Cecy,” he said at length, “ what have you done 
about the estate?” 

“Nothing at all — what should I do?” 

“Some one must attend to it for you; have you 
appointed any one?” 

“I have not once thought of it, Alfred. Don’t 
speak of that now.” 

It made his heart leap with joy when he heard 
that he was in time. 

“But it is necessary, Cecy,” he continued; “you 
must appoint a trustee to look out for your interests. 
You should do it at once.” 

“Can I appoint Colonel Stannard?” she asked, 
after a pause. 

“You can if you wish ; hut ” he knew not what 

to say. Would she defeat him after all? 

“ But what, Alfred ?” she asked, seeing his hesi- 
tation. 

“ I fear he does not like me. To my face he is 
friendly enough, hut behind my back I hear that he 
does not speak well of me.” 

“ Oh I Alfred ! that cannot he. He is an honorable 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE. 


157 


man, and would not do such a thing. You must be 
mistaken.” 

“ I hope that I am, but until I am sure of it, I 
would rather he should not have control of your 
property. Will you not trust me with it?” 

Cecy could not speak at once. Again she felt the 
chill that had before fallen upon her heart, with a 
pain there which she had not felt then. She could 
not refuse him. 

“Yes, Alfred,” she said, her voice shaking with 
emotion. “I will do as you wish. Certainly, I can 
trust you; why ask me that? Do I not give you 
myself? What, then, is this property to me?”'" 

“My own dear girl,” he said, warmly, “it is for 
your sake that I do it. Who is there would be more 
careful of your interest than I? Shall I not share it 
with you some time?” 

“Yes, Alfred,” she whispered, but the words 
choked her, and she tried hard to drive back the 
tears that were springing to her eyes. 

“ You are of age, Cecy, and a written authority 
from you will be sufficient. We may be able to get 
paper and ink here.” 

He stepped to the door which had been standing 
ajar during his interview with Cecy, and called 
Mrs. Harris from the passage. The kind-hearted 
woman looked sadly into Cecy’s eyes as she passed 
her, and gave an audible sigh ere she crossed the 
threshold. 

In a few moments Harris himself came in with 
the paper. 

“I am glad you have come — oh — what is the 
name? Harris, yes! Harris. Miss Morgan is to 
make me her trustee. You can witness that it is a 
free act on her part. Is it not. Miss Morgan? 

Frightened at these words, Cecy looked up in 
astonishment. 

“Yes — that is — yes, of course. What am I to 
write, Mr. Guerry?” 

He dictated the paper to her, and soon folded it in 
his pocket. Not long did he remain, now he had 
accomplished his purpose ; not one affectionate word 
did he speak to her; but delaying the jailer uptil hig 


158 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAGK 


good-by had been said, hurriedly passed from the 
room. 

Cecy felt her heart freezing in her bosom as she 
listened to his step upon the stairs, and tried in 
vain to frame some excuses for him. 

“He said that he would come to-morrow,” she 
thought; “but how .can I wait so long. I must 
know what it is that has caused this change in 
him. Is the change in me?” 

Her reverie was interrupted by Mrs. Harris, who 
stole back to her side, and took the chair in which 
Alfred had sat. One touch of her hand upon Cecy’s 
hair softened her aching heart, and bowing her 
head in Mrs. Harris’ lap, she wept freely. 

“Oh, Miss Morgan! forgive me, but I heard it 
all,” said the sympathizing woman. “I heard it all, 
and I am sorry you gave him that paper. I do not 
like ” 

“Stopl Mrs. Harris, don’t say any more. Don’t 
make me regret that I have felt so kindly and 
grateful to you. Mr. Guerry is to be my husband.” 

“Forgive me, Miss Morgan; I did not know it.” 

“Never mind. It is nothing,” said Cecy, em- 
bracing her; “.I love you for your kindness to me. 
Let me alone a little while now ; but come and sit 
with me by and by.” 

“For her sake I wish it was the other,” Mrs. 
Harris said to herself, as she again turned the key 
upon the weeping girl within. 


THE ILLEGAL MAHRIAGE. 


lot> 


CHAPTER XV. 

ALFRED GUERRY RECEIVES HIS FIRST CHECK IN HIS 

GAME. 

For many a day Alfred Guerry had not felt so 
free from dread, as he did when he went to seek 
Stannard at the hotel, with Miss Morgan’s authority 
to act as her trustee in his pocket. 

He felt safe now, and determined to go at once 
to Echaconnee and take charge of old Morgan’s 
effects. That there was paper or stock of some 
kind upon which he could realize at once, he did not 
doubt ; and no better excuse could he have than 
Miss Morgan’s desire for ready money to meet the 
expenses of her trial. 

Stannard’s money returned, old Hawks dead or 
out of the country, Trippe in his grave, as he proba- 
bly would be in a few days, if all accounts were 
true, and a fair career in life would open before 
him. 

Even when reflecting upon the difficulties to be 
surmounted by the means now placed in his hands 
he saw how troubles had accumulated. 

Two men were sitting in Stannard’s room when 
Alfred entered. 

“Come in, Alf ! come in!” said Stannard, cordial- 
ly ; “ I am glad to see you. I went to your room this 
morning ; but you were out. I can appreciate your 
anxiety. Mr. Martin you know, I believe,” said 
Stannard, turning to the lawyer. “This is my friend 
Guerry, Mr. Crawford.” 

Peyton Crawford had just arrived in Perry, and 
was speaking of Guerry a moment before the latter 
came' in. He extended his hand cordially; but 
Alfred shrank before his keen black eye. 

“Have you seen Miss Morgan, Alf? asked Stan- 
nard. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


MIS 

“I have just left her. She bears her troubles 
wonderfully well.” 

“Like a saint, indeed. Poor ^irl, how I pity her. 
Alf, we must fit that room up for her to-morrow if 
there is an upholsterer in Perry.” 

“Y-e-s!” Guerry answered, slowly, for want of 
something else to say; “yes — certainly.” 

He felt uncommonly squeamish under the steady 
gaze of those black eyes, which seemed to look 
through and through him. 

Peyton Crawford, Stannard’s friend and attorney, 
was a young man, for one who had attained so wide 
a reputation at the bar, and but a year or two, per- 
haps, older than Stannard himself. 

Few could look upon his handsome face without 
being struck by it. His round face and olive ski:*’ 
his keen black eye, in which lurked a pleasant 
smile, his straight black hair, thrown back from a 
broad brow, and his upright, compact form, made 
him a perfect type of manly beauty. 

Alas! that I must say, writing these words many 
years after the Echaconnee tragedy, that this 
Apollo — with a young wife, with fame, with wealth, 
with all that could make life happy in his golden 
prime — now sleeps in a soldier’s grave. 

Crawford had come up from Columbus at his 
friend’s request, but at no small loss to himself. 
Stannard had the utmost confidence in Crawford’s 
attainments, and for many years had intrusted all 
his business to him. 

“So the grand jury have found a bill,”” said Craw- 
ford, presently. “I suppose, Martin, it was on the 
verdict solely.” 

“ It is preposterous ; upon my word it is. I never 
saw such stupidity. 

“Perhaps so, Stannard. We must try and prove 
it so.” 

For the next half hour the four men went over 
the case together, Alfred maintaining strict silence. 
With those wonderful eyes upon him, he dare not 
trust himself to speak, and every moment feared 
that Stannard would refer to the letter. 

The two lawyers could not join in Stannard’s 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. IGl 

belief that Miss Morgan would be released without 
trial, and foresaw difficulties which must be over- 
come by solid testimony. 

Presently Crawford asked if there was any evi- 
dence in her favor now. Alfred spoke quickly : 

“Certainly — there is Stannard’s.” 

“ And his testimony is, if I understand it, the very 
thing upon which the accusation is based.” 

Stannard had been sitting with his arms folded, 
intently listening to the discussion between the 
lawyers; but this answer roused him. He was 
obliged to acknowledge the truth of this, but did so 
with a groan. 

“ I fear you are right, Crawford. The truth is, I 
know very little about the case; but that little 
seems to — to ” 

“I understand it perfectly,” said Crawford. 
“Without intending to say anything which could 
be construed as against her, you were mainly in- 
strumental in procuring her committal. The diffi- 
culty is to prove suicide, or to show that she is not 
guilty of murder. We must have a detective to 
look up the case.” 

Without intending it, Crawford had fastened his 
eyes upon Alfred’s face as he uttered these words, 
and was surprised to see the pallor that had come 
over it. The rapid blinking of Guerry’s eyes pro- 
duced a strong impression upon Crawford’s mind. 

Moving his chair so that he could watch him 
furtively, he noted every expression of Guerry’s 
face. 

“Unless he can prove an alibi,” tlie lawyer 
thought, “ I fear this fine fellow will change places 
with that girl soon.” 

“Crawford, what can we do?” asked Stannard. 
“What must we do first? Trippe might have helped 
us ; but he is on his back.” 

The last words were uttered in a low tone, and as 
if to himself. 

“What do you say about Trippe?” 

“I said that he might have given us some help, 
but for his accident. Peyton, I am sure that he 
knows the secret of this whole affair. He began to 


102 THE ILLEGAL MAEIilAGE. 

tell me something that morning, hut we were inter- 
rupted. I’ll wager anything that he could give us 
a clew in five minutes.” 

“ How is he getting on ?” 

“ I can hardly tell you— better, 1 believe ; hut I 
can’t say that the doctor gives us much hope. He 
has brain fever. It may he that my hopes are too 
bright ; but I think that his eye shows signs of con- 
sciousness. I believe he knows a good deal of what 
passes around him.” 

“Who is attending him?” 

** Doctor Pierce ” 

“What, Ham Pierce, of Fort Valley? I know him 
intimately. Trippe could not be in better hands. 
What does Pierce say about him?” 

“I can’t tell you, really — he says very little; hut 
I’m sure he thinks Trippe good for another month 
or two in bed.” 

Martin, the eldest brother of the party, gave an 
expressive grunt, and sank again into his thought- 
'ful mood. 

“Trippe recognized his wife yesterday,” Stannard 
continued, “and asked where he was; but Pierce 
forbids her to talk with him.” 

“I am going to Fort Valley on business to-morrow,' 
and will see — what time does Pierce come up?” 
Crawford asked, quickly changing his remark. 

“On the morning train,” Stannard replied; “he 
returns on the next.” 

“He’s at home by one o’clock, then?” 

“By half-past one, at least. Do you know Mrs. 
Pierce?” 

“Very well. I know her familj^, and have charge 
of the miserable pittance they allow her. Her 
brothers treated her badly, because they were op- 
posed to her marriage. She is a true woman, 
though, and cheerfully sacrificed every tiling to 
marry the man she loved. His family think the 
world of her.” 

“She is a true woman,” said Stannard, warmly; 
“a noble woman too. I like her much.” 

“I was going on to say,” continued Crawford, 
“that I have to visit Fort Valley to-morrow, and 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


163 


will have a talk with Pierce. I may call at Echa- 
connee in a day or two.” 

“Do so, Peyton. You could not do me a p^reater 
favor. It is a long time, Peyton, since you have 
been to my place.” 

“ I know it is, Stannard, but you must remember 
that I am not a man of leisure like yourself. I can- 
not leave work with an overseer, and go away 
when I wish.” 

“Nonsense; all lawyers take a holiday now and 
then — is it not so, Martin? You know that you 
could come up for a week’s shooting if you wanted 
to. Send law to the dogs and come stay with me.” 

“Perhaps there is something besides law which 
keeps Crawford so much at home,” suggested 
Martin ; “I imagine there is a lady in the case.” 

“I heard something of that,” said Stannard. 
“ How is it, Peyton, are you badly Hurt?” 

“Hard hit, I fear,” replied Crawford, laughing at 
this play upon a name. 

“Come! Come!” called Martin; “stick to your 
brief. Don’t talk nonsense before a man who has 
gray hair and eight children. Miss Morgan must 
be our first care.” 

“You are right; we should think of nothing 
else. What is the first thing to be done?” 

“To make her comfortable in the jail, I should 
say, Stannard.” 

“Right again, Martin. Alf and I will attend to 
that, you two must arrange the other matters.” 
“Martin, I must go back to Columbus,” said 
Crawford, “but I will send up a detective to you.” 
Again he saw Alfred’s eyelids twitching unpleas- 
antly. 

“ Appling is a good man if not engaged — will you 
meet him at Echaconnee? For some time we can do 
nothing but work up the case.” 

“I will meet Appling,” interposed Stannard, 
“Martin lives too far away. He can make my 
house a base of operations. I must go home in the 
morning— you can remain here, Alf?” 

Guerry had scarcely spoken during this inter- 


164 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAOE. 


view, and a deep blush suffused his face when thus 
appealed to. 

“I cannot,” he replied, with a stammer; “I am 
obliged to raise some money for Miss Morgan, and 
must see to it at once.” 

“You need not leave town for that,” Stannard re- 
plied, “lean easily raise the money here. Let me 
give you a check on my merchants.” Stannard 
took a blank check from his note-book. “How 
much do you want for her? I expect De Wolf, 
down stairs, will give }"ou the money on it; if not 
you can get it from Thompson, the hardware man.” 

Alfred was now really alarmed. Another check 
upon the merchants from whom he had already 
drawn so large a sum would certainly bring his 
forgery to light. He must keep Stannard and his 
checks away from the merchants. 

“Oh, no, no! Colonel Stannard, I could not take 
any more money from you.” 

“But this is for Miss Morgan. She is welcome to 
all that she needs. What is the figure? Come, Alf, 
don’t be foolish about so small a matter.” 

“Were it for myself, I might not hesitate,” re- 
plied Guerrj^, stooping to a lie; “but this is for Miss 
Morgan. She expressly charged me not to get the 
money from you.” 

Stannard put back the check, and abruptly turned 
to the window. 

“Don’t feel hurt, I beg you. She was very par- 
ticular in telling me not to let you know of this ; 
and I should have refused more firmly, without 
giving a reason for so doing.” 

“Mr. Guerry,” asked Crawford, fixing his eyes 
upon Alfred’s face, “do you intend to get this 
money from your private means?” 

“Oh, no! Stannard, T hope you do not think hard 
of this — I am sure Miss Morgan would never forgive 
rne, if she heard how awkwardly I have bungled 
with her words.” 

“She need never know it. I shall never mention 
it to her.” Stannard replied, with a trembling lip. 

“ I must go at once to Echaconnee, on business 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


165 


for Miss Morgan,” continued Alfred ; ‘^she has made 
me her trustee.” 

He took her authority from his pocket, and ex- 
tended it for inspection. Martin took the paper 
from his hand. 

“This is waste paper, Mr. Guerry,” said the 
lawyer, after reading it carefully through. “Were 
you not aware that Morgan left a will ?” 

“I don’t see that it will make any difference,” 
said the young man, sullenly. 

“ It would not, perhaps, under certain conditions. 
For what property do you propose to act as Miss 
Morgan’s agent, or trustee?” 

“ I cannot understand such questions ; of course it 
is for the home estate — for the castle property. In 
fact, for all her property.” 

“You are deceiving yourself, Mr. Guerry — Miss 
Morgan is a poor girl. So far as I know, she has 
not five hundred dollars in the world.” 

“What do you mean?” Guerry cried, rising from 
his chair in great excitement; “ what is the use of 
all this humbug with me? Do you know why I 
have charge of Miss Morgan’s property?” 

“Sit down, Mr. Guerry,” said the lawyer, calmly. 
“One of the first things a lawyer has to learn, is to 
control his temper. Take my advice — and I was at 
the bar before you were born — never show your 
hand in any case, no matter how trifling.” 

“I don’t understand you. What do you mean by 
‘showing my hand?’ I am a gentleman, sir, and 
want to be treated like one.” 

“Sit down, Mr. Guerry,” said Crawford, who had 
been sitting with folded arms, keenly watching the 
young man’s face. Stannard had turned again 
toward them, and was standing with both hands 
upon the back of his chair. “No one has ques- 
tioned you, that I am aware. There is no necessity 
for a declaration like that.” 

Those black eyes were too strong for Alfred’s 
comfort, and subduing his anger for the moment, 
he sank back into his chair. 

These fellows are trying to discredit my author- 


166 


THE ILLEGAL MAliBIAQK 


ity,” he thought ; “hut they will find themselves mis- 
taken. They can’t bully me.” 

“I apologize for my expression, Mr. Guerry,” 
Martin continued. It is a slang phrase, I admit; 
but as an old lawyer, I wanted to tell you that 
excitement, in any case, is sure to betray your ” 

“Mr. Martin,” interrupted Guerry, angrily, “I am 
not in need of your advice. When I am you may 
depend upon a fee from me. I admire your talents, 
but at present would rather you confined yourself 
to the case in hand.” 

Crawford caught Martin’s eye at that moment, 
and knew that he had a purpose in thus irritating 
Guerry. He understood it thoroughly. 

“lam ready to apologize in full,” said Martin, 
with his usual calmness, “I hope that I have not 
offended you, Mr. Guerry?” 

“Let us proceed with this business.” said Alfred, 
sulkily; “what were you saying about Miss Mor- 
gan’s property?” 

“I said, that to my knowledge, she has not five 
hundred dollars in the world.” 

“Now, Martin, what’s the use of talking so? You 
are acquainted with the estate, and know that there 
is not an incumbrance upon it.” 

“ Granted ; but I spoke of a will — Morgan made a 
will some years before his death, disinheriting his 
daughter ” 

“Disinheriting Miss Morgan !” cried Guerry, again 
springing to his feet. “Who — I don’t believe it — it 
is not true — we shall ” 

“Mr. Guerry.” interrupted Crawford, “will you 
please be silent !” 

He quailed before those eyes, and Martin con- 
tinued : 

“I objected to the will when I drew it up; but 
Morgan explained the matter to me in a way that 
removed all my scruples. Things did not turn out 
as Morgan hoped; but unfortunately he had not 
destroyed the will. I have it in my possession at 
this moment.” 

“Who is the— who then,” Alfred stammered, and, 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


167 


seeing that Martin was in earnest, grew deathly 
pale. 

“Who has the estate? you were going to ask. 
Every inch of property that Morgan owned now 
belongs, by will, to Colonel Stannard.” 

“He has no right — we shall dispute the will,” 
Alfred^ cried, striking the table with his hand. 
“You are all against her, every one of you.” 
“Gently, gently, Mr. Guerry; we will bear much 
from you; but you are now going too far.” 

Stannard was much distressed. Not yet had he 
the faintest suspicion of Alfred’s honesty, and he 
rather admired the spirit with which he stood up 
for Cecy’s rights. 

“ I am sure that I should do the same,” he thought, 
“were she to be my wife. This is torture to him, 
and I cannot permit it to go on.” 

“ There is no necessity for that, Alf. Listen to me 
a moment, I ” 

“Colonel Stannard,” interrupted Martin, quickly, 
“ will you do me the favor to let me speak !” 
Crawford joined in the request with a look, and 
Stannard took his seat, pitying Alfred from the 
bottom of his heart. 

“ Let me finish my story. This will is now in my 
possession, and will hold good in law. Miss Morgan 
cannot touch a dollar of this property without 
Colonel Stannard ’s permission. What do you mean 
to do with this paper?” 

“I shall see Miss Morgan before I answer that 
question. T will see her at once.” 

He seized his hat and was near the door when 
Stannard stepped to his side. 

“Alf, for Heaven’s sake don’t speak of this now! 
She has trouble enough without hearing of more. 
Any amount of money that you want will be 
furnished. Here, Crawford— no! Martin, will you 
not advance the money?” 

“As much as she needs. You can promise her 
any sum she wants, and I will bring it to-morrow.” 
“See that, Alf? You can have it to-day. Surely, 
Qecy— Miss Morgan would not object to my indorse- 
ment. I beg you not to tell her.” 


168 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE. 


“Let me go, Colonel Stannard— I’ll not promise 
you. I believe you are all conspiring to defraud 
her,” he almost shrieked, as, tearing away from 
Stannard’s hand, he slammed the door in his face. 

Quickly opening the door, Stannard called to him ; 
hut Crawford stopped a further effort. 

“Oh, Martin! why did you carry the thing so 
far? Let me go and tell him the truth— let me tell 
him that I will not have the estate before he goes 
to her.” 

“Stannard,” said Crawford, impressively, “as sure 
as you live that young fellow is guilty.” 

“Peyton, that cannot be!” 

But a new liglit seemed to break on Stannard’s 
mind, and he stopped in consternation. 

“ Perhaps he is not guilty of the murder — I do not 
think he has the courage for that ; but he knows 
something about it.” 

“You see now— you can see yourself, Stannard,” 
said Martin, “that he thinks more of Miss Morgan’s 
money than he does of her.” 

“He is guilty of more than that,” interposed 
Crawford, “or I am greatly mistaken. Was there 
nothing said about him at the inquest?” 

“Nothing at all. Simmons acted like a fool. He 
would not listen to reason.” 

“Think a minute, Stannard — was there no evi- 
dence to show that he was there that night? Was 
there no negro gossip to give a clew?” 

He could not again run the risk of injuring Cecy 
by withholding what he knew, and at length de- 
termined to speak of the letter. He told them the 
circumstances, with Alfred’s explanation. 

“I knew it,” said Martin, slapping his knee; “I 
felt sure of it. Have vou that letter?” 

Stannard took the letters from his pocket, and the 
two lawyers read them carefully. 

“What is this?” exclaimed Crawford, suddenly; 
“you gave him five hundred dollars? What in the 
world was that for?” 

“I can’t tell — here is his other letter asking for it.” 
“Stannard, my friend, you have made a dreadful 
mistake; you have done an injury to that girl.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


169 


‘^Peyton, I would not have done it for the world 
under other circumstances. She tried to shield. him, 
even to me ; and hinted to me what he tells me 
there, that he went away before dark. I believed 
them. He is to marry her, and — and I should — I 
would have given him ten times as much for her 
sake.” 

Both men understood his feelings thoroughly, and 
touched as lightly upon the subject as they could; 
but they shook his faith in Alfred at last, and he 
was deeply shocked at the suspicions which they 
revealed to him. If Alfred were, indeed, the villain 
that these skillful men would make him, then must 
he watch carefully over Cecy. He could not leave 
her now. 

“Martin,” said Stannard, at length, “this thing 
has quite upset me. I wonder how many more 
horrors there are to be in this affair. I cannot go 
home, now ; but you go to my house and attend to 
Appling when he comes up. I give you the letters — 
but remember I will have nothing to do with the 
matter until you convince me by something more 
than suspicion. It seems incredible to me — why 
just look at it, he had everything in the world to 
make him an honest man !” 

“I thought of him from the first,” said Crawford ; 
“ I am sure he is a bad young fellow, and not worthy 
of any really noble girl.” 

“Well! let us work,” said Martin, rising; “I have 
a long ride before me before night.” 

“I must go, too. Stannard, you shall hear from 
me, or see me in a day or two.” 

“Come up if you can, Peyton, I wish you would.” 
“I’ll try. At any rate make your mind easy; we 
shall leave no trace unfollowed. Good-by.” 

“Do all you can for her, Peyton,” said Stannard, 
with trembling lip, as he shook hands with his 
friends in the passage. 


170 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAQE. 


CHAPTER XVI. 
cecy’s peison life. 

For nearly an hour after the lawyers left him, 
Stannard sat in the same spot thinking of the de- 
velopments of that day. Could it be true that Alfred 
Guerry was after Cecy’s money? Was he really 
concerned in the murder of her father? 

“ Heaven forbid !” he said to himself ; “ if she loves 
him it would break her heart. I must see her at 
once ; yet how can I tell her of this? I cannot.” 
Taking his hat, Stannard went down stairs and 
inquired for Guerry, learning that he had gone 
away on horseback some time before. The paper 
which he had obtained from Cecy had been left on 
the table, and with this in his possession, Stannard 
went to the jail. He found Cecy with a note in her 
hand, sitting by the narrow window. 

“Oh ! I am glad you have come,” she said, extend- 
ing her hand; “have you seen Mr. Guerry?” 

“Ye — yes! that is, I saw him an hour or so ago. 
He was at my room.” 

She cast her eyes upon the floor and for the mo- 
ment made no reply. 

“William, you are so good to me that I do not like 
to worry you with my troubles, but — — ” 

“ Cecy, you would not feel so if you knew how 
happy I feel when serving you.” 

A crimson flush suffused her face, and again she 
paused. He pressed her to call on him for any 
service. 

“Do you think you could And Mr. Guerry?” she 
asked,- presently. 

“I think so — I will try, if he has not left town.” 
“Perhaps he has not yet gone. This morning I 
gave him a paper which I wish to get again. 1 fear 
I have made a great mistake.” 

It was not alone to the paper that she now re- 
ferred, and once more she dropped her eyes upon 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE. 


171 


the floor. He took the paper that Alfred had left 
from his pocket. 

“Is this the one you mean?” 

“Oh, yes j that is it. How — how did you get it?” 
“He left it on the table in my room.” 

Cecy was puzzled. His anxiety to get this paper 
had frightened her, and now he had left it with 
Colonel Stannard — what could have been his object? 

“I maybe mistaken,” she thought, “and I will 
not act hurriedly. He said that he would return to- 
morrow; let this rest until then.” 

“ Have you seen Alfred since ” 

“Since I gave him this?” she asked, as he hesi- 
tated, holding up her paper; “No, I have not seen 
him, but I have a note from him. He tells me — you 
can read it.” 

She extended the note to him, and he read : 

‘•Dear Miss Morgan: — I am obliged to go to Macon on business and 
shall not be able to see you before to-morrow evening. I shall return 
as early as possible to-morrow. Alfred Guerry.” 

No longer could Stannard doubt. He saw from 
the tone of this note that Guerry was already think- 
ing of deserting Cecy, and he thanked Martin for 
his sagacity. Yet even then he could not give up 
all hope. She loved him, and if her heart clung to 
him as he thought, he would not let them be 
separated in this way. But he could say nothing. 

Cecy took the note from his hand, but spoke of 
something which had no connection with the sub- 
ject they were upon; and at that moment Mrs. 
Harris called to them at the door: 

“It is a man with some things,” she said, “some 
things for you. Miss Morgan.” 

Cecy looked up quickly into Stannard’s eyes, and 
knew at once that they were from him. 

“Yes, Cecy, I sent them. Make yourself com- 
fortable here. I will leave you now, but send for 
me at any time. Mrs. Harris, will you not send me 
word if Miss Morgan wants anything?” 

He was already in the passage when the promise 
was given, and tried to push a bank-note into the 
woman’s hand ; but she refused it promptly. Catch- 


172 


TEE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


ing up a rosy-clieeked boy who was clinging to his 
mother’s skirts, Stannard managed to transfer the 
note to the little fellow’s pocket, and ran down the 
stairs. 

Cecy’s heart was too full for words, and when the 
jailer’s wife entered, she was sobbing with her face 
buried in her hands. Rousing herself as the man 
came in with the furniture, slie stood watching it, 
piece by piece ; and it was with a strong effort that 
she kept back her tears at this evidence of his good- 
ness to her. 

Deeply distressed at what he had seen, and heard, 
and felt, that day, Stannard walked back to his 
room and tried to think over all that had occurred. 
To him the last half hour with Cecy had been worse 
than all; for the sight of her face had reminded 
him of the love that he must crush from his heart, 
and her resignation had touched him deeply. 

“Why should I feel this pain?” he said to himself ; 
“did I not once forfeit all right to happiness in this 
life? How true it is — the saying that there are no 
sadder words than ‘it might have been !’” 

Until the twilight shadows were deepening in his 
room he sat in reverie, with his cheeks resting upon 
his hand; and thoughts of his shipwrecked life 
crowded fast upon his mind. For a long time he 
sat there, enduring mortal agony. 

At length he grew calmer with resignation, and 
lighting a cigar, went out into the street. The night 
was lovely. In all parts of the sky the stars shone 
brilliantly, lighting the town as if by strong moon- 
light, and bringing out the shadows on the sandy 
soil in all their varied forms. 

From the gardens rose the perfume of thousands 
of flowers, while from the low marshes around 
came the music of croaking frogs with the sad notes 
of the whip-poor-will. 

A tame mocking-bird gave out one sweet strain 
as Stannard passed the porch in which its cage was 
hanging, and he paused to listen. The whole air 
seemed musical and full of sweet odors. 

He walked on in silence, scarcely knowing or 
caring whither, and at last found himself opposite 


THE ILLEGAL MARHIAGE. 


173 


the prison. His mind flew back to the brief time he 
had spent there, a few hours before ; and leaning 
against a tree, with folded arms, he gazed up at 
Cecy’s little window. 

Within, that little room had greatly changed 
since he was there. Thinking of him, of her past 
hopes, of her disappointment, of his goodness to 
her now, Cecy had sat long by that window; and 
leaning her head upon her hands, she lost herself in 
reverie. 

She started at length, thinking that she must have 
fallen asleep there, and glanced out into the street. 
But in an instant she sprang away and sank down 
into a chair. She had recognized the watching 
form without, and a painful thrill shot through her 
heart. 

In that moment she knew his love as well as if he 
had told it to her. 

“I love him yet!” she sobbed to herself; “lean 
deceive myself no longer. I have been mad !” 

Bowing lier head for a moment, Cecy gave way to 
her tears. 

“I could have loved him so,” she thought, “for 
he is good, noble, and generous. He is one who 
wears well the grand old name of gentleman. But 
it is too late ; I am not worthy his love. It might 
have been, if — if ” 

She could not complete the thought, but blamed 
herself bitterly for her conduct m the past. 

And “it might have been, but it is too late now,” 
were the sorrowful words uttered by Stannard as 
he walked back to his hotel. 

Of course the Echaconnee tragedy made a great 
stir in the county, as well as in all that part of the 
State; and for many da^^s the newspapers were 
filled with the particulars, as gleaned from “re- 
liable gentlemen,” giving the public to understand 
that there was scarcely a doubt of Miss Morgan's 
guilt. 

It turned out, they went on to say, that Mr. Mor- 
gan opposed her marriage with a certain young 
limb of the law, and that she had been heard to 
threaten her father if he opposed the match. It 


174 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


was only just to say, however, that this youn^ man 
knew nothing of her intentions, and had been 
greatly shocked when he heard of the murder. He 
had done all that could have been expected of him 
since her incarceration ; but no one could blame him 
now for considering his engagement canceled. 

Naturally enough. Miss Morgan stated that her 
father committed suicide in a fit of insanity ; but 
the coroner’s jury, composed of respectable citizens 
— fathers themselves, had not found the evidence 
strong enough to sustain this conclusion. 

They had no intention of prejudging the case, or 
of prejudicing the public mind in advance of the 
legal investigation ; but an examination of the facts 
destroyed entirely the suicide hypothesis. Some 
startling facts, it was hinted, w'ould be developed 
at the trial. 

Miss Morgan was ignorant of all this. Several 
days had now been passed in her little prison room, 
and Stannard took good care to keep these papers 
from her ; but he chafed under this comment, and 
set his teeth hard together in his impotent rage. 

The comments of the Fort Valley paper upon the 
indictment were particularly exasperating ; and 
Stannard threw the paper on the floor, vowing to 
“chastise that man Cherry, preacher or no 
preacher.” 

The article in question was one of those which 
condemn severely behind the safeguard of “ they 
say,” or “it is reported,” the writer putting his own 
malice upon the public in this way, to avoid per- 
sonal responsibility. 

But a little reflection convinced Stannard that he 
could do nothing. Anything like the use of violence 
to redress her wrongs would ultimately get to Cecy’s 
ears, and reflect, in a manner, on her. 

“This is one of the glorious prerogatives of a free 
press,” he muttered, kicking the paper away from 
him; “it is a great thing to be able to abuse an 
innocent girl without fear of the law— protected by 
the law, even from personal chastisement.” 

These days of waiting were very far from being 
as tedious to Miss Morgan as her friends had sup- 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


175 


posed, for in the consciousness of Stannard’s pres- 
ence, and his attentions to her, she found a never- 
failing panacea for time and trouble. Every 
morning he sent her a bouquet of fresh flowers ; 
every evening he called for an hour or two, bring- 
ing along something for her comfort, or to add to 
the appearance of her room. 

Day by day, Cecy felt a great change going on in 
her heart, and often found herself wondering how 
it was that she came to love Alfred Guerry. Did 
she love him? No, she had to confess that she never 
loved him as she had loved before, although she 
came near doing so ; and closely questioning her 
own heart, she saw how completely she had given 
herself up to a fancy. 

“I was piqued at his coolness,” she thought, refer- 
ring to Stannard, “and I did not believe he cared 
for me. And then they all seemed to think so much 
of Alfred — all the girls were trying to catch him. I 
was carried away by success.” 

Hour after hour she sat by her window, blaming 
herself severely, and questioning her own heart. 

“I thought him a malignant satirist who said that 
women love, not from the evidence of their own 
senses, but from the judgment of other women; yet 
how true it was even in my own case. I was mad. 
Parents are right when they say that the young do 
not know their own minds. We think that we do, 
and oppose restraint, bringing upon ourselves a life- 
time of trouble. Oh, that I had listened to the good 
advice that was given me.” 

One evening Cecy sat musing thus, when, to her 
great surprise, Mrs. Bond came in. Despite the dis- 
tance, she had driven down from Macon to spend a 
night with her suffering friend. It was a visit that 
brought inconceivable relief to Cecy. 

For a moment she could not realize that it was 
really her friend ; the next they were locked in each 
other^s arms. 

“I have come to spend the night with you, Cecy, 
my sister is with me. My dear Cecy, how much 
you must have suffered.” 


176 


THE ILLEGAL MABHIAGE. 


“Not SO much as you think, dear, he is so good to 
me.” 

“He? who is he? not Alfred Guerry?” 

“No!” replied Cecy, while a deep blush suffused 
her face, “I have seen Alfred but once since I 
came.” 

“ Do you mean Colonel Stannard ?” 

Cecy did not answer, but bowed her head upon 
the bosom of her friend, a gesture which told the 
story of her heart. 

“ Dear, tell me one thing — did you have any words 
with Alfred?” 

“Never; why do you ask?” 

“Do you love him? Believe me, Cecy, I do not 
ask from idle curiosit}^; but for your own good. I 
have something to tell you about him — if I may.” 

For a short time Cecy did not speak, but presently 
made a full confession to her friend. 

“I have told myself a thousand times,” she said, 
“that I must have been mad; yet I might have 
loved him had he come to me in this trial. Hattie, 
he acted cowardly with me — what woman could 
love a man she knew to be that? Sometimes I scold 
myself for despising him.” 

“ I never liked him, Cecy ; do you not remember 
that I ” 

“ I remember it well ; but I was wayward. Even 
when I thought that I loved Alfred best, I trembled 
before — before — him. ” 

It did not need a name to show who this “him” 
was, for Mrs. Bond read the secret of the heart 
throbbing against her own. 

“Cecy, darling, you do not know how happy you 
have made me. I was trembling over the news that 
I had to bring you. Shall I tell it to you?” 

Cecy nestled closer to her friend, having then a 
suspicion of what was to come. 

“Mr. Martin came to see me,” Mrs. Bond began, 
“two days after he was here, we entered into a 
conspiracy together— plotting against you with all 
our might. Did Colonel Stannard tell you about 
Mr. Guerry in his room?” 


THE ILLEGAL MAIiRIAGE. 


177 


“ He has never told me anything except that Mr. 
Guerry was there.” 

“ He came there with the paper you had given 
him. Mr. Martin always believed that Alfred was 
trying to get your money, and told him then that 
you were a poor girl. Peyton Crawford was present. 
I do not know all that happened there, but Guerry 
did not behave like a gentleman. He left in a rage, 
saying he was going to appeal to you. 

“Colonel Staimard was much distressed at this, 
and offered him all the money that you needed; he 
was afraid to add another trouble to yours, and 
begged Alfred to return. 

“Angry with them, but more particularly with 
himself, he left town at once for Macon. That very 
evening he called on Minnie Johnson, and ” 

“And what, Hattie? Do not keep back anything 
from me. ” 

“ She came to me to ask, the next morning, if it 
was true that he was never engaged to yon. Alfred 
had told her that there was no formal engagement. ” 

“I am glad of that,” said Cecy, clasping her friend 
still closer. 

“ So am I, for your sake, dear ; but the worst is 
yet to come — he proposed to her, and she refused 
him.” 

“I am glad of that, too.” 

“ Cecy, as sure as we live he is a bad man. Mr. 
Martin gave me some hints which seemed to show 
that Alfred was in deeper trouble. The day before 
I left, a detective was looking for him.” 

Cecy gave a little cry and raised her head. 

“ What for — what Avas it for?” she asked, quickly. 
“ If it was about ” 

“Nothing about this trouble, Cecy, Mr. Martin 
assured me of that ; but he hoped that it might lead 
to some developments of the mystery Avhich seems 
to shroud your father’s death. But let me tell the 
rest. AVhen I told Mr. Martin about Alfred’s pro- 
posal to Miss Johnson, he left at once to find him. 
He found Alfred in the street, and there confessed 
that he was mistaken about your property -^that 
there was no will, as he had supposed. 


178 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE, 


“What passed during that interview I cannot 
tell; but Alfred left town that evening on the Echa- 
connee road. I feared that he had already been 
here. I am sure you will see him soon.” 

“I shall not see him,” said Cecy, firmly; “I shall 
deny myself to him if he comes. Oh, Hattie, why 
did I not listen to you!” 

Laying her head in the lap of her friend, Cecy 
sobbed out her self -accusations, and showed that 
she was no longer under the influence which had 
swayed her heart. 

It was a great consolation to Cecy to have her 
friend spend the night with her, and until far into 
the morning they lay in each other’s arms, talking 
of the past and future trials. 

True to the prediction of Mrs. Bond, Alfred was 
in Perry the following day. He had avoided Stan- 
nard at the hotel, and for some time hung about the 
jail to make sure that he was not there. 

It was a great surprise to him when Mrs. Harris 
returned his card with Cecy’s refusal to see him, 
and all persuasion failed to induce the honest little 
woman to take a note of entreaty to Miss Morgan. 

“It’s no use tiying, sir, she will not see you.” 

“But, Mrs. Harris, just take this to her,” handing 
a card upon which he had written; “just take this 
to her and see. If she refuses then I’ll go away.” 

“You will have to go away without it, for she 
positively refused to see you. Besides, she has a 
lady with her.” 

“A lady? Who is it, Mrs. Harris?” 

“A lady from Macon — Mrs. Bond, I believe,” said 
the little woman, delivering her message according 
to instructions. 

Alfred staggered as he heard the name, and re- 
peated it in surprise. He turned to the door ; out 
into the street he went feeling that his last hope of 
safety was gone. What had he to liva for now? 
How could he escape the Nemesis that was pursuing 
him. 

Glancing up the street as he climbed the fence for 
the purpose of striking into the woods where his 
horse had been left, he saw Stannard approaching 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE. 


179 


the jail. Stepping behind a tree he watched Stan- 
nard as he entered the building, and waited to see if 
he, too, was refused admittance. 

It took not long to solve this problem, and breath- 
ing curses upon the man who had befriended him, 
Alfred crept along the fence, and was soon lost in a 
thicket of pines. 

Time wore on and the session of the court was 
near at hand. Except in name, Cecy’s captivity 
was nothing to her, and she began to dread the 
time when the delicious sweetness of those days 
would be interrupted. Friends came often to see 
her. Mrs. Harris was always at her side, and Stan- 
nard was ever mindful of her welfare. 

Doctor Trippe was improving rapidly, and had 
already partially recovered his mind. Looking: up 
into the face of his wife one morning, he astonished 
her by asking abruptly if Mr. Morgan had been 
buried. 

“Yes, indeed! near three weeks ago;” she told 
him, and affectionately placing her hand over his 
mouth forbade him to speak. 

“Tell me one thing, dear, and then donT speak 
again until I tell you. Who shot you?” 

“Shot me?” he echoed, “when was I shot?” 

“There, there! You are not shot,” she said, 
quickly, as she observed his efforts to recall the 
past. “The doctor has forbidden you to speak, and 
I won’t have it. You must not ask a question until 
I give you leave ; and that will not be for a week.” 

The little woman stopped his mouth with a kiss as 
he began to remonstrate, and tried to impress upon 
him the necessity for rest. Trippe was not hard to 
persuade, for his frequent fits of wandering had 
convinced him that he must be quiet. . 

But his eyes brightened daily and his intellect 
grew stronger. He began to grow observant and 
thoughtful ; while his eye followed the busy,^ loving 
woman about the room with a look that plainly in- 
vited confidence. 

“I promised to obey you,” she said to him one 
day, when he was inclined to rebel against her 
severity, “and so I will when you are up again. I 


180 


THE ILLEGAL 3IAERIAGE, 


have you on your back now, an exceptional case 
not provided in the contract, and I am going to 
make the most of the little time I have. You may 
make me pay for it, though. ” 

But the smiles on the sick man’s face, as he drew 
her down to press a kiss upon her lips, told plainly 
that the retribution would not be very terrible. 


TUE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


181 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE DETECTIVE ON THE TRAIL. 

Three clays before the time appointed for the trial 
of Miss Morgan, Peyton Crawford came with Doctor 
Pierce to Echacoimee. Stannard had just arrived 
from Perry, having been sent for to meet Martin 
and the detective. 

For more than a week Appling had been hard at 
work, and now had a clew which, it was hoped, 
would lead to some unexpected developments. 

Crawford was not in the best of spirits. 

“There is no doubt about it, doctor,” he said, as 
they were walking from the station; “we must 
have Trippe’s testimony. I do not see how it can 
be avoided.” 

“I can’t promise you, Crawford, any excitement 
might throw him back, and his mind has wandered 
whenever he has mentioned this matter.” 

“You must make the attempt. I see no help 
for it.” 

“Could you not have the trial put off?” 

“Yes, by keeping her in jail.” 

“Let us see how Trippe is to-day. If possible we 
may question him.” 

Stannard met them at the gate, and together they 
went into the sick man’s room. Crawford had 
known Trippe for some years, and stepped to his 
side. 

“My dear Trippe!” said he, taking the hand ex- 
tended to him; “how are you? I’m sorrylo see you 
in this way, old fellow; but Pierce says you 'are 
picking up fast.” 

“ Thanks ! yes ; I believe I am doing very well — a 
great deal better than Pierce thinks, I’m sure; or 
he would let me talk a little.” 

“ Time enough for that, Trippe ; you’ll be all right 
in a day or two.” 

“ I’m all right now, mentally. It would do me an 


182 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


immense amount of good to have a talk with you — 
it would hurry me out of this.” 

“My dear fellow, never hurry; I give you Stan- 
nard’s rule, and a very good one, too. Take life 
easy, Trippe, in whatever form it comes to you.” 

“Wait until you are in my fix, Peyton, before 
giving advice; wait until you have a doctor tyran- 
nizing over you.” 

“Now, Trippe,” said Pierce, laughing, “doiiT put 
it on me. Did I say anything to you about it.” 

“You conspired with my wife, though — all the 
same.” 

“You are a doctor yourself, Trippe, and know 
what tyrants doctors are, as well as the necessity 
for their being so.” 

“Yes, I’m aware of all that,” answered Trippe, 
with a smile ; “ but here I have been sitting up in 
bed off and on for some days ; and Ham, who only 
sees me once a day, still forbids me to talk. The 
greatest worry of my life is that I can’t put one of 
you on the witness stand and question you for an 
hour.” 

“Well, Trippe, we’ll see about that to-morrow,” 
interposed Pierce, laying his hand upon the in- 
valid’s pulse. “If you keep on as you are to-day, 
we’ll hold a general court-martial on you, and 
sentence you to be shot, or to convalescence.” 

“I’ll be shot if I shouldn’t like it, doctor.” 

“That depends ; don’t speculate on the finding of 
the court, sir. We may sentence you to be hanged,” 
still holding the wrist. Pierce took out his watch 
and counted for a moment. 

“To be hanged in a hammock, out there on 
the porch,” he concluded, closing the watch. 

“I’ll be hanged if I shouldn’t like that, too; but I 
say. Ham, couldn’t you manage to put your words 
a little closer together? You want to frighten me 
into submission.” 

The three men looked at each other with smiles, 
each happy to see that Trippe’s intellect had re- 
turned. Pierce would not continue the badinage. 

“There, Trippe, that will do for to-day. Save your 
strength— you are tired already.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


183 


“Not a bit of it, doctor,” he answered, briskly. 
“Don’t try to prejudice the court against me.” 

Again Pierce laid his hand upon the sick man’s 
wrist, smiling toward Crawford, as they recognized 
Trippe’s power of continuing the simile. 

“What does the pulse say, doctor?” 

“ It says that you are much better than I expected 
to find you ; but it tells me also that you have talked 
enough for to-day. Be patient, Trippe, you’ll soon 
be out.” 

The invalid obeyed, but listened eagerly to the 
conversation around him, hoping to hear something 
about Morgan’s death ; but this was a topic which 
they studiously avoided. 

“ He is improving rapidly,” said the doctor, as the 
three men met on the porch. “ If there is no change 
for the worse we may question him to-morrow.” 

“It is of no use to-day,”^ repeated Crawford; 
“Martin is not here. Where is he, Stannard?” 

“ He promised to come with Appling, this morn- 
ing. He’ll be here to-morrow, certainly.” 

“I must catch the train — good-by,” said Pierce, 
offering his hand ; “you will see me in the morning.” 
Lighting their cigars, Stannard and Crawford 
walked down to the bridge, and leaning upon the 
rail above the scene of the doctor’s accident, dis- 
cussed the case in all its bearings. Stannard spoke 
of the man he had seen on that morning, and they 
started across the bridge to examine the spot. 

“ I am sure of it, Stannard, and everything points 

that way. If old — what’s his name? was ” 

“Hawks— Abner Hawks.” 

“If Hawks was there, depend upon it he is con- 
cerned in this murder. He has not been seen since, 
you tell me?” 

“No; sometimes he was not seen in the settlement 
for months ; but of late he had often been here.” 

“ Where does he live?” 

They were near the end of the dry-bridge when 
this question was asked, and before Stannard could 
answer it, their steps were arrested. 

“Hist!” said some one in the bushes near them, 
and looking to the right, they were surprised to see 


184 


THE ILLEGAL 3IAREIA0E. 


Appling, the detective, hidden behind a fallen 
cypress. 

“Don’t speak,” he said, in a whisper; “don’t make 
a noise. Come near me, please.” 

They pushed through the bushes and sat upon the 
log. 

“I’m after old Hawks,” he said, in an undertone; 
“and have a trace of him. Go back as }^ou came, 
without looking around. I may not be able to meet 
you to-morrow, but will come to Perry at once. Go, 
quick — I expect my bird every minute.” 

“ But what do you ” 

“Please don’t question me now, Mr. Crawford; I 
have nothing but suspicion. I’ll let you hear from 
me soon.” 

It was now twilight and fast growing dark. The 
two men retraced their steps in silence, but turned 
as they reached the rise of the hedge, seeing the 
shadow of a man, opposite the spot where the de- 
tective was lying, as it disappeared in the bushes. 

“Appling has him this time — no hound on the 
scent is keener than that fellow. I have never seen 
his equal.” 

“ I hope he may be on the right track, Peyton ; 
for, to tell the truth, I begin to fear she will have to 
remain there until the next term of court.” 

Talking of the topic that was uppermost in their 
minds, the friends soon arrived at Stannard’s gate. 
Appling’s clew furnished a new key to them, and 
until near midnight they sat upon the veranda, 
going over, again and again, the points that could 
be made in Miss Morgan's defense. 

The morning train brought Pierce to Echaconnee, 
and again the three men stood at Trippe’s bedside. 

“Can you not see that I am better, Crawford? It 
was all owing to my little talk with you yesterday. 
I believe a man would cease to think rationally, if 
he could not express his thoughts in some way.” 

“Don’t try to do too much, Trippe; you maybe 
needed to ” 

Pierce called Crawford to the window, interrupt- 
ing his remark. 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE, 


185 


“It’s a conspiracy, Trippe,” he said, apologetically. 
“Depend iinon it we are after you sharply.” 

“I called you to say,” said Pierce, “that I do not 
think it will do any harm to question him now, 
provided it is done gently. It would be better to 
defer it a few days though if you could.” 

“ It is very important, doctor, that we should find 
out what he knows about it. I do not say that Miss 
Morgan is in danger ; but I do say that she should 
have all the help that we can give her.” 

“ Try not to agitate liim, Crawford ; a reference 
to tlie murder might excite him, and he is still very 
weak.” 

Pierce spoke in a louder tone than he intended, 
perhaps, for the words reached Trippe ’s ears, and 
hearing a noise, they turned to see him sitting up in 
bed. 

“Murder !” he cried. “What murder? Miss Mor- 
gan to be tried for murder? Wliat do you mean?” 
They sprang to his side, finding him trembling 
with excitement. 

“Lie down, Trippe,” said Pierce, quickly, “you 
must not agitate yourself — be quiet and we will tell 
you — there !” 

He sank back upon the pillow and looked up 
eagerly into their faces. 

“We did not dare tell you before,” continued the 
doctor. “ Indeed, it has been but a few days that I 
felt sure of your life even — and but few, four or five 
at the most, in which you could have understood 
us.” 

“ Tell me quick, please — this suspense is very try- 
ing to me.” 

“ In short, then, the coroner’s jury found a verdict 
against Miss Morgan for killing her father, and she 
has been committed for trial.” 

“The idiots!” Trippe cried. “The stupid fools! 
Could they not see that Morgan killed himself.” 
“Not exactly, Trippe. Stannard thought— we all 
thought, in fact, that Morgan was murdered.” 

“ Wliy, Miss Morgan could have told you better 
than that.” 

“She was sick, Trippe— unconscious for several 


186 


THE ILLEG-AL MAlilUAOK 


days. She said, later, that her father committed 
suicide; but all the circumstances pointed to a 
murder. How could we prove it?” 

“Where is she now?” 

“At Perry. She is to be tried in a day or two.” 
“Oh, Heaven!” Trippe groaned outright. “How 
long has she been there?” 

“About three weeks.” 

“And you’ve kept me in ignorance of all this 
when that innocent girl was in prison charged with 
this crime ! Heaven knows, I would have risked my 
life a thousand times to have prevented it.” 

“ I know you would— I’m sure you would, Trippe,” 
said Stannard, grasping his hand. 

“ And you, Stannard ! You of all others should 
have known me better. How often have I heard 
you say that life was not worth purchasing at the 
expense of an act of cowardice?” 

“Come! come! Trippe! be charitable,” said Craw- 
ford, coming to the bedside. “We did what we con- 
sidered for the best, and there is no use in quarreling 
about it now — let us think what is to be done. You 
are so positive that Morgan killed himself — how can 
you prove it?” 

“By my art,” said Trippe, firmly. “Morgan com- 
mitted suicide in a fit of delirium, during which he 
tri d to frighten his daughter into a promise.” 

“ What was the promise? Is it important?” Craw- 
ford asked. 

“ I only know by what he had previously said to 
me, when raving about his daughter. You know 
how he hated the Guerrys? He wanted Miss Mor- 
gan to give up Alf Guerry and marry — marry an- 
other,” he concluded, after a short pause. 

“Strange she should not have told me that!” 
Stannard remarked. 

“Perhaps it is,” said Trippe, thoughtfully ; “will 
you get me a glass of fresh water?” 

Stannard left the room, and as the door closed 
behind him. Trippe continued: 

“The truth is, old Morgan wanted her to marrv 
Stannard— he had set his Jieart on it. It was an old 
dream— as old as Miss Morgan herself. He wanted 


• ffl® ILLEGAL MAERIAGE. 


187 


to have these two places united by — hush! he is 
coming.” 

“ Stannard returned with the water. 

“Ah! ha! Yes, I see,” said Crawford, nodding. 

“As I was saying,” continued Trippe, sipping a 
little water from the glass, “ as I was saying a mo- 
ment ago, I knew the whole story, heard it from 
Morgan himself ; and even then feared it would 
work upon his mind until he became utterly insane. 
I ought t ) have sent him to Milledgeville : but Miss 
Morgan opposed it so strongly that I had to wait for 
some overt act, as they say, to warrant my taking 
the responsibility. I feared that he would do her 
some harm, and never got a call that I did not ride 
fast over.” 

“Poor girl! she did her best,” said Stannard; 
“how patient she was with him.” 

“ A perfect angel — ’pon my word, I wondered at 
her,” Trippe replied, speaking earnestly. 

“But how can you prove this? Suppose that we 
are sure of suicide, how can we convince a jury? 
How can you prove it, Trippe?” 

“By my art, Crawford, as I said a moment ago. 
Let me think a moment. Stannard, have you seen 
a note-book of mine about here?” 

“ I saw you writing in one by that dreadful bed- 
gicle— a black leather-covered memorandum-book. 
I remember distinctly; watching you in *a dreamy 
state of semi-unconsciousness as you wrote. Pve 
not seen the book since. I will ask Mrs. Trippe 
about it.” 

During his illness Trippe’s wife had been con- 
stantly by his side, and the fond woman was now 
overjoyed at the prospect of his recovery. If she 
left him to run home for a brief visit to the chil- 
dren, she was quickly back again, and at night 
slept upon a couch wheeled close by his bedside. 

At this time she was happy over a few words 
from Pierce, telling her that the doctor could be 
moved home in a few days. Through all his illness 
she had been a faithful nurse, and, though loving 
him with all her tender nature, was firm in carrying 
out the doctor’s orders. 


188 THE ILLEGAL MAEEIAGE, 

“If I do not,” she would tell herself, “and any 
harm should come to him, I could never sleep in 
peace again.” 

And so, strong in her affection for him, the little 
woman had ruled him sternly in all things pertain- 
ing to his sickness. When in health, she had never 
entertained a thought of opposing him, for her 
whole life was wrapiDed up in him and the children, 
and she knew no pleasures in which they had not a 
part. 

Just now she was particularly happy, and sat 
humming a ballad over her sewing as Stannard 
entered to inquire for the hook. 

“I’ve never seen it,” she replied to his query. “I 
don’t think I know what you mean.” 

“The doctor says it is in the side-pocket of the 
coat he had on when he fell.” 

“Then it must be there still. Colonel Stannard.” 

“Oh, jewel of wives!” he said, gayly, “do you 
mean to say that you have gone three weeks with- 
out searching your husband’s pockets? I can hardly 
credit it.” 

“ I do mean to say it — hut do not think that I have 
no curiosity. I’m not above that womanly weak- 
ness — and I am just dying now to find out what you 
men are doing in there.” 

“I never tell tales out of school, madam,” he said, 
laughing; “besides, I make it a rule never to en- 
courage the failings of womankind.” 

“And I never search for old coats; besides, do 
you not see that I am busy?” 

“Yes, busy tangling your thread, as you have 
been your brains, about our doings.” 

“Have I not confessed it? There! you have made 
me prick my fingers. Well, then, you will find the 
aforesaid coat in the armoir close by my husband’s 
bed.” 

Bowing to her with a smile and a wave of his 
hand, Stannard went back to the doctor’s room. 
Before he could search for the hook a servant came 
in with a note. Stannard took it from the boy’s 
hand and hastily broke the seal. A slip of paper 
fell upon the floor. 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE. 


ISO 


“It is from Martin,” Stannard said, glancing at 
the signature, “he is in Macon.” 

He ran his eyes quickly over the words, and pres- 
ently sat down by the window. Crawford picked 
up the slip that had fallen. 

“My Heavens! Peyton,” Stannard exclaimed, 
presently, “just look at this.” 

Crawford took the letter. 

“Read it aloud, Peyton. What could that young 
man have been thinking of? How could he escape 
detection ?” 

“Dear Colonel,” Crawford read, “I have but a 
moment to write to you. Appling has found old 
Hawks, and will have him arrested to-day. 

“Is the inclosed order genuine? The ink has 
faded a little, showing that the last cipher was 
written with a different quality. I am watching 

G so that he will not be able to escape. Send 

word by the up train.” 

“That will settle the matter beyond question,” 
said Crawford ; “ what could he have done with that 
money?” 

“ I sent him an order for two hundred only — let 
me see the ink.” 

“This is not the original, Martin is too sharp to 
let that go from his hands.” 

“If what Trippe says is true, why arrest him? 
Let him have the money — ITl not prosecute this.” 

“Now, Stannard, I protest against that. I do not 
believe Trippe understands the case — he thinks he 
does, but it must be cleared up.” 

Stannard was forced to yield, and sending word 
to Martin that the order was a forgery, authorized 
the arrest of Alfred Guerry. 


190 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE ARREST OF ALFRED GUERRY AND OLD HAWKS. 

Sending off his letter in reply to Martin’s note, 
Stannard returned to find Pierce and Crawford in 
the garden. 

“We came out to let Trippe rest for a time,” ex- 
plained the doctor; “and wanted to discuss the 
matter by ourselves. Whether Morgan killed him- 
self .or was killed, yo%i must admit, Stannard, that 
this young fellow should not be permitted to marry 
that noble girl.” 

“What a pity!” said Stannard, sadly. “If she 
really loves him she will never recover from thi^ 
blow. You don’t know her.” 

Entirely unselfish, Stannard did not think of him- 
self, but, at any sacrifice to himself, wished to -make 
Cecy happy. No longer could he doubt that Alfred 
was a criminal, and he prayed that Cecy might not 
suffer from this additional blow. Little did he know 
the change in her heart; little suspect that she was 
now almost hating herself for being led away by 
her fancy for Alfred Guerry. 

For some moments there was silence between the 
men in the garden, each being busy with his own 
thoughts. It was first broken by Pierce. 

“ Let us go in now. Trippe will be anxious, and 
we had better get his story at once.” 

They went into the room again, and Stannard, 
finding the note-book, placed it in Trippe’s hand. 
He turned over the leaves for a moment, and, 
smoothing it back with his hand, took a sip of 
water. 

“I have here,” Trippe began, “a full and accurate 
account of each wound on Morgan’s body — its 
depth, width, inclination and character. I intended 
to make a diagram of them, and should have ex- 
plained them to the coroner had I been able to do 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE 


191 


SO. Doctor, you can follow me: One wound in the 

right breast, two inches from ” 

“Never mind the particulars, Trippe — save your 
strength. It will not matter now. Give us your 
summary merely.” 

“ It is simply this— mark now, I know nothing of 
Miss Morgan’s statement of the case — see how mine 
compares with hers. There were ten wounds — all 
in the right breast — all to the right of the heart. 
The most of them are mere pricks, penetrating but 
slightly ; two only entered the lung. * 

“ From their inclination they could only have been 
produced — when a man was able to offer the slight- 
est resistance or even to move — by a knife in the 
left hand; and that by the hand of Morgan himself. 

“A second person would have given the wounds 
a downward slant. Had murder been intended, the 
heart would have been pierced ; and the fact of so 
many of these wounds being slight cuts, merely, is 
another proof that they were not inflicted by a 
murderous hand. 

“I believe that Morgan tried to frighten his 
daughter at first — perhaps fancied he had killed 
her. Finally, growing wild and delirious, lie tried 
to kill himself. At the sight of blood he became 
worse and gave the remaining wounds — the two 
deeper ones, probably, being the last. 

“He died from loss of blood. A stronger man 
might have survived any or all of those wounds — 
perhaps he might have pulled through had I been 
there in time. He was dying when I entered the 
room. 

“I have here Morgan’s last words, which Stan- 
nard can verify. These refer solely to her opposi- 
tion to him, and more than once were uttered in my 
presence— referring to her refusal to give up Guerry 
and marry — marry another. I think that he was 
raving mad a week before he died, and I now regret 
that I had not taken the responsibility of sending 
him to the asylum, regardless of Miss Morgan’s 
opposition. 

“I should have ordered him into a strait-jacket 


192 


TEE ILLEGAL MABTtlAOK 


the last time that I saw him. Do I differ from Miss 
Morgan in any of the particulars?” 

“No; but you tell us more than she did,” Stannard 
answered. “I believe that she fainted before he 
struck the first blow. She has an idea that she saw 
a man at the window, and heard the crash of the 
glass as she cried for help.” 

“That must have been fancy, I think,” answered 
Trippe ; “ but of that I know nothing. I do know, 
however, that Morgan died by suicide.” 

“There was blood over the floor, don’t you re- 
member that, Trippe?” 

“Perfectly. I will tell you the whole secret in 
my opinion. When Miss Morgan fainted, Morgan 
fancied he had killed her, and trying to kill himself, 
walked about the room. I think he fell against the 
window — I thought so when I saw it first. But he 
must have been near the bed when she revived, 
and ” 

“She says so,” said Stannard. 

“ That will do, Trippe ; that will do. 1 must put 
all this into an affidavit, and — who is your nearest 
magistrate?” 

“ We have one near by; I’ll send for him.” 
Stannard went out for the purpose, while Craw- 
ford arranged his writing materials near the bed. 

“Affidavit?” said Trippe. “What is the use of 
that — I am going to Perry myself.” 

“Indeed you are not — the" idea is preposterous!” 
exclaimed Pierce. “You would never get half way 
there.” 

“This will do very well,” Crawford added; “at 
least, until we get you up.” 

“Yes, and let that poor girl die in jail.” 

“ Trust me for that, Trippe. I can manage to get 
bail on this.” 

“I know you will if you can, Crawford;” and 
finding their opposition so strong he yielded to 
them. 

“ In case of accident, Trippe, I must have your 
statement in proper order. Rest awhile now, and 
I’ll take it later.” 

Night came, and still they had no news from 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


1G3 


Martin; but Crawford decided to go at once to 
Perry in order to be on hand to stay proceedings 
if necessary. Stannard was anxious to get back to 
Cecy. Pierce was starting for the evening train. 

“We shall not see you in the morning, Ham, but 
take good care of Trippe.” 

“Certainly I will, Stannard. Let me know how 
things come on.” 

Early the next morning Stannard and Crawford 
drove off for Perry. It was late in the evening 
when they arrived : but they lost no time in going 
to the jail to see Miss Morgan. 

The two men paused in amazement as they en- 
tered the little room and saw the change that had 
been wrought. The furniture was entirely new ; a 
neat French bedstead with tent bar stood in the 
corner; fine lace curtains, falling in graceful folds 
from gilded cornices, hid the grated window-frame ; 
engravings were hanging on the walls, and the 
whole room seemed filled with the delicate perfume 
of violets and roses, which stood in pretty vases on 
a rosewood bureau. 

With a bright smile Cecy came forward to meet 
them, throwing aside the book she was reading as 
she rose. She could but observe their surprise, as 
she extended her hand to Stannard. 

“To you I owe it all,” she said, seeing him glance 
around the room. “ How can I ever thank you for 
your kindness.” 

“ It was not the things, Cecy, that I was admiring, 
but the effect you have produced with them. It is 
wonderful.” 

“It is all due to my good fairy. Need I tell you 
that I have been very happy, even here. Do I show 
signs of care?” 

“ Indeed, Cecy, I am glad to see you looking so 

well.” ^ , 

They had expected to find her pale, wan, and sad ; 
but here she stood, brighter, fresher, and more 
cheerful than she had been for many a day. 

“Do you not think, Mr. Crawford, that sorrow 
agrees with me? I know that I ought to be crushed 
under my load of sorrow and trouble ; but I have in 


194 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


my heart; a ” she hesitated and stammered out; 

“but I am not even unhappy.” 

Was she about to say that she had something in 
her heart that proved an antidote to sorrow? It was 
what she felt, although she dare not say it before 
him. She knew now that he loved her. Not a trace 
of regret for Alfred Guerrv could she find in her 
heart, and she now regarded that weak, vacillating 
young man with pity, as she wondered at her own 
heart. 

Stannard sighed deeply as he found his heart 
throbbing painfully at the very sight of this sweet 
girl. After a few simple compliments, the lawyer 
began on the business which had brought them 
there. 

“Our time is short. Miss Morgan — permit me to 
come at once to business. Not to annoy you by 
needless delay, I must say that we have the testi- 
mony of Doctor Trippe ” 

“Oh, is he better?” she broke in gladly; “I am so 
glad to hear it. How happy Mrs. Trippe must be.” 
“Unselfish girl!” Stannard thought, “she never 
thinks of herself when anotlier is in trouble.” 

“Yes, my dear Miss Morgan,” Crawford replied, 
“ I am happy to tell you that he is out of danger. 
He has told us all, and has confirmed 3mur state- 
ment in every particular. He knew of the promise 
which your father tried to extract from you ; and 
by his skill and tlioughtfulness he has supplied us 
witli, I liope, sufficient evidence of your father’s 
suicide.” 

“Oh, Mr. Crawford! I felt sure it was so. Did he 
say that my father killed himself?” 

“ He did — but for his accident ^mu would not 
have been subjected to this annoyance. He told 
us all.” 

“ Did the doctor tell you all about— about ” 

She hesitated and cast a quick glance toward 
Stannard, as her face crimsoned with confusion. 
She could not speak. Crawford understood her 
confusion. 

“Confound these birds— I cannot hear myself 
think. I wonder how you can bear this noise, Miss 


THE ILLEGAL MARIilAGE. 196 

Morgan, Stannarcl, I wish you would stop them for 
a moment, while I ” 

Taking advantage of the moment, Crawford 
whispered : 

“ I know all ; he does not. He was out when the 
doctor told me.” 

She looked inexpressibly grateful to him, and ap- 
preciated his delicacy in relieving her embarrass- 
ment, which was near betraying her. 

“There, Stannard, that will do. I only hope you 
have frightened them out of their voices for a 
time.” 

Stannard came back to his seat. 

“ I must tell you, Miss Morgan, that you will have 
to appear in court to-morrow,” continued Crawford, 
“and maybe subjected to some annoyance. Re- 
member, however, that you have warm friends in 
us — ready to protect you, anxious to do you good 
service.” 

“ I know it, Mr. Crawford ; I cannot express my 
gratitude to you and to — to Colonel Stannard.” 

“ Do not try, please. Miss Moragn ; it is a pleasure 
to serve you.” 

Stannard could not speak, but looking at her 
face, he saw her eyes wet with tears, and felt that 
he could gladly die to serve her. The loving fond- 
ness of her glance did not escape Crawford’s eyes. 

“ As I was saying, you may be annoyed to-morrow, 
but I hope you may not be long detained. Stan- 
nard’s evidence will go against you, seemingly, at 
first ; but it will be strongly in your favor when all 
the facts are brought to light — and I hope you may 
be discharged immediately. Keep a good heart, 
whatever happens, my dear young lady, and rely 
on us for doing all that can be done.” 

“I do not fear, Mr. Crawford; I have never had a 
fear for the result. The best armor that one can 
wear is the consciousness of innocence. I never 
really appreciated this until I was so tried.” 

“ I can only partially agree with you. Miss Mor- 
gan. To you, I admit, this is perfectly true ” 

“But is it not always true, sir?” 

“ Perhaps not. To a man who knows the uncer- 


196 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


tainties of the law, it is not always so, T fear. I 
have seen innocent men writhe and turn pale under 
the torture of tlie law, and suffer as much — quite as 
much — as if they had been guilty.” 

“ Then it must be the fault of the law, Mr. Craw- 
ford.” 

“ Or the fault of the men in my profession, more 
properly speaking. I know a lawyer now, who 
bullied the witnesses in a murder case until he had 
a man hanged ; two years afterward, his own 
abilities in the same line proved the man innocent.” 
“ How terrible ! I should dislike that man exceed- 
ingly.” 

“ And yet he is a noted man at the Georgia bar — a 
most excellent father and neighbor.” 

“I could not like him.” 

“Then ITl not tell you his name. Miss Morgan. 
Well, this is not cheerful talk for you; but you have 
nothing to fear.” 

“I do not — I have not had the slightest fear.” 
“Come, colonel, Martin may be down to-night, 
and we must be ready to meet him.” 

They rose to go, but she raised her hand to bid 
them be again seated. 

“Pray do not go immediately — that is, if you can 
spare me a moment. I want to ask about Doctor 
Trippe?” ‘ 

“ He is doing famously — indeed, we had hard work 
to keep him from starting for Perry the moment he 
heard you were here.” 

“ He is so kind — how happy I am to hear that he 
is better. But I wanted to inquire about his acci- 
dent. How did it happen?” 

“ That we do not know. There is a mystery about 
it, but Trippe refuses to tell how it happened.” 

“ But was not his horse shot. ” 

“Yes; Trippe says that it was an accident; but I 
have my own opinion upon the matter.” 

“I can scarcely conceive that he should be shot 
twice by accident, and very near the same place,” 
said Stannard. “ It was hardly a month ago that 
he came to my house with a hole through his coat.” 
“I do not believe it was an accident,” Crawford 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE. 


197 


responded ; “ I feel sure it was not. But Trippe was 
so anxious to chang^e the subject that i could not 
pursue it.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Crawford ! Do you think that somebody 
tried to murder him?” 

“ I do not know that ; but I am sure, despite the 
doctor’s reticence, that it was no accidental shot 
that came so near ending his life.” 

“ How dreadful ! In all my life there have been 
no such horrors in our quiet settlement before. It 
was quite a little Eden, was it not, Will — Colonel 
Stannard ?” 

“It' was, indeed; I hope ” 

“ That we may soon find the serpent which has 
disturbed this little Eden,” interrupted Crawford, 
catching up Stannard’s words. “So do I. Unless I 
am greatly mistaken, we have him in custody now.” 
For the first time during this interview, Cecy 
thought of Alfred Guerry, and she now remem- 
bered what Mrs. Bond had said of him. 

“Who has been arrested, Mr. Crawford?” 

A look from Stannard prevented a reply that was 
already on the lawyer’s lips. 

“Colonel Stannard, who is it? I see you do not 
wish to tell me, and I know by that whom you mean 
— it is Mr. Guerry.” 

Stannard was deeply grieved, fearing that she 
would have another sorrow pressed upon her heart. 
She knew it now, and he could only make it as 
light for her as possible. 

“It is true, Cecy, but it will not prove serious. I 
shall not appear against him.” 

“You shall not appear against him! You are 
talking in enigmas to me. Tell me, Mr. Crawford — 
for what has he been arrested?” 

Crawford read her heart, and knew its secret 
well; therefore he did not hesitate to tell her. 
Stannard was trembling at the result he feared. 

“What weak creatures we men are,” thought 
Crawford, at that moment; “here is this man who 
fought like a tiger at Molino del Rey — one who 
never said ‘go,’ but always ‘come,’ trembling like 
an aspen before this weak girl,” 


198 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE, 


The thought did not occupy his mind a second, 
and he answered her question promptl}^ 

“Miss Morgan, he has been arrested for forgery.” 
“For wdiat?” she cried, standing like a statue be- 
fore them. “ What is it that he has done ?” 

“ He obtained two thousand dollars by forging an 
order on Colonel Stannard’s merchants.” 

“ Cecy, do not give it a thought, he shall not be 
injured by it. I will not — I promise you, under no 
consideration will I appear against him on this 
charge. The money was mine. I would give him 
ten times the sum rather than do him harm.” 

Again Crawford saw the loving light in her eyes, 
as she gazed fondly upon Stannard’s sad but earnest 
face, and thanked fortune that she had been turned 
entirely from her former imprudent fancy. Strange 
that Stannard could not see it also. 

With tears in her eyes, Cecy rushed forward and 
grasped his hand in both her own. 

“Thanks! Ten thousand thanks, my noble, gen- 
erous friend. Ho not ruin his life for that. Let me 
sliare the loss with you, William, and let him go.” 

“ Cecy, I shall not trouble him about it. The loss 
is nothing. I will forbid any proceedings against 
him.” 

“Is it known? Will it be made public? Oh, Mr. 
Crawford, do not think me unrnaidenly — I have a 
deeper interest in him than you may suppose. 
Though he deserted me, I would not have any 
harm come to him.” 

“Deserted you?” said Stannard, almost breath- 
less. 

“Yes,” she responded, quickly; “ I must wear the 
willow; but can we not save him from public 
gossip?” 

“We cannot, Miss Morgan,” said Crawford; “it is 
impossible now.” 

“Then, William, my good friend, I want to borrow 
some money from you — will you aid me?” 

Stannard started as lie heard this, and looked into 
Crawford’s eyes. The look did not escape Cecy. 

“You do not understand me,” she said, with a 
deep blush ; “ you think ” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


199 


“You do not understand us, I fear, Miss Morgan. 
Did you refuse to take money for your expenses from 
Colonel Stannard?” 

“Never. Did he. — did Mr. Guerry say that I did?” 

“Never mind that, Peyton; it is nothing,” Stan- 
nard interposed. “Cecy, can you doubt? Tell me, 
if you may do so, what you wish ; perhaps I may 
aid you.” 

“I wish to have Mr. Martin give Mr. Guerry 
money enough to take him away. This will be his 
ruin if he stays.” 

“ Trust it to me, Cecy ; I will see that it is done at 
once. Believe me, Cecy, I will do all that I can for 
him.” 

“I believe you; I do — I do — I do,” she sobbed and 
cried, hysterically, rising and stretching her hand 
toward him ; but choking over the words that she 
could not utter, fell back into her chair. 

The excitement of the past few moments, her 
, great love, the nobleness of his nature, had strained 
her nerves to the utmost, and she sank back faint 
and exhausted. 

Mrs. Harris was quickly by her side, and in a few 
moments she began to revive. 

“I am better, thank vou,” she said to them. 
“ Good-night, now ; I will be ready for you in the 
morning.” 

In silence they left the room, and, stroking his 
mustache with a puzzled air, Stannard went down 
the stairs, followed by his friend. They paused in 
the room below, arrested by a bustle in the hall ; 
and a moment later saw two men, in charge of the 
constable, entering the room. 

It was Alfred Guerry and old Hawks. Slouching 
his hat down over his eyes, Alfred turned away 
H'om Stannard, who quickly stepped aside from 
motives of delicacy. With feeble steps old Hawks 
tottered into the room, his emaciated, cadaverous 
face showing the effect of the suffering he had 
endured during the past month ; while a deep, 
hollow cough, told all around him that his term of 
life had almost ended. 

The fatigue of the journey down, debilitated as 


200 


THE ILLEGAL MABHIAOE. 


he was from loss of blood, want of food, and proper 
nursing, had been too much for the old man, and 
he sank upon the floor thoroughly exhausted. 

“My God!” cried Stannard, springing toward 
him, “he is dying. Send for a doctor, Harris; I 
will see all expenses paid — give them the best you 
have.” 

Taking a card from his pocket, Stannard wrote a 
few words upon it, and pushed it into Alfred’s 
hand. 

“Colonel Stannard,” said the young man, hoarse- 
ly, “ I have no right to ask anything from you, but 
I wish you would do me one favor.” 

“Anything that I can do, Alfred, I will do for 
you.” 

“Do not let her know that I am here.” 

It was the last thing that Stannard desired, and 
had not the request been made he would have en- 
joined secrecy upon the jailer and his wife. 

“I will attend to it, Alfred; make your mind 
easy. If you wish anything I hope you will not 
hesitate to call on me for it.” 

Guerry looked curiously into Stannard’s face, as 
if to detect some lurking sarcasm there, but its per- 
fect good faith and honesty were apparent. Yet this 
generosity did not soften his heart, and he felt a 
deeper hatred for the man who had never refused 
him a favor, and who was even then planning in his 
own mind how best to remove this charge of crim- 
inality. 

After speaking aside with Eaborn and the jailer, 
Stannard bade all good-night and followed Craw- 
ford from the room. 

At the first moment, Alfred read the card in his 
hand. 

“There will be no charge against you,” Stannard 
had written ; “ say that you drew the money by my 
authority.” 

Crushing the card in his hand with a muttered 
curse, Alfred entered his cell, and heard the door 
close behind him. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


201 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ALFRED GUERRY WHISPERS IN THE EAR OF DR. 

TRIPPE. 

In relating a story which so many persons now 
living will remember, I have endeavored to confine 
myself to the leading facts — to give the main feat- 
ures only of the drama — leaving the by-play to be 
filled in by the imagination of the reader. 

An expert story-teller (which I do not profess to 
be), could easily carry the story of the well-known 
Echaconnee tragedy through one or two large 
volumes ; but I have no desire to do mora than re- 
late the simple facts, presenting, here and there, an 
epitome of the conversations which were held by 
the leading characters, in order to give the reader a 
fair understanding of their feelings and motives. 

I pass over entirely the great excitement which 
the tragedy caused in the quiet Echaconnee settle- 
ment ; the spiteful remarks of certain ladies upon 
Miss Mo]-gan’s arrest — ladies who “never did think 
her so much better than other people” — I pass the 
county talk and gossip about it for many a day, 
witli many other things that would bear relating, 
and I shall touch lightly upon the trial at Perry. 

But it made a great stir at the time, and drew out 
hundreds from the surrounding country who had 
never before seen the inside of the court-house. 

All of these things may still be learned from any 
old gossip in Crawford or Houston counties; to 
relate them here would be to spin out my story to 
an impracticable length. 

For four weeks the matter had been in every 
mouth, and on the morning of the trial the streets 
of Perry were filled with carriages, carts, and 
country wagons, bringing in people of both sexes 
and all conditions in life. 

Before speaking of the trial it is necessary, in 
order to present a connected story to the reader, to 


202 


THE ILLEGAL MABIIIAQE. 


look back a little at the career of Alfred Gnerry. 

The night was far advanced when, driven from 
old Hawks’ hut, he went out to seek food and 
stimulants for the wounded man. For some time 
he stood upon the brow of the hill gazing at the 
light which shown from Cecy Morgan’s sick cham- 
ber, and once more a bitter feeling took possession 
of his heart. Yet how could he escape from the 
clutches of old Hawks? 

“I would murder }^ou if I could,” he said, aloud, 
shaking his clenched hand toward the hut below. 
“Why did I ever place myself in your power?” 

He could not answer the question, but thought 
bitterly of the contract in writing which he had 
made with that old man, thus giving him still 
greater power if he chose to use it. 

“And what have I to hope from him,” Alfred 
thought. “ He would betray me for money as will- 
ingly as he murdered Morgan. I thought that shot 
had killed him, when I heard his cry in the shrub- 
bery — would to Heaven it had! Now I must be his 
slave until he is well enough to go away.” 

“I wonder if he would die there,” he thought 
again, as a dark purpose came into his mind. “I 
wonder if he could give an alarm if I left him 
there?” 

It Avas a risk that he dare not run. Fully impli- 
cated with old HaAvks in the murder, he aa^us bound 
to carry the thing through to the end; and his best 
plan was to get the old man up as soon as possible, 
and send him aAvay with the money draAvn from 
Stannard. 

It was late in the morning Avhen Alfred returned 
to the bridge; and he disappeared in the bushes 
just in time to aA^oid Stannard, Avho Avas riding over 
ro pay his morning Ausit at the castle. 

Willi a heart full of curses, he peered through the 
bushes at the thoughtful, placid face of the rider, 
remaining there until the sound of the horse’s hoofs 
Avas lost in the distance. 

Even by daylight the entrance to the hut Avas not 
easily found; but, guided by the voice Avithin, he 
once more passed over the logs, and pushing aside 


THE ILLEGAL MALtlUAGE:. ‘203 

some loose bushes carelessly thrown over the crev- 
ice, lowered himself to the door. 

“Have you brought that whisky?” shouted old 
Hawks, as soon as Alfred appeared. “Give it here — • 
and be quick about it.” 

“ Here it is, Hawks — and trouble enough I had to 
get it.” 

“ What do I care for that. Air you gwine to let a 
friend die for the sake of a-saving trouble.” 

“No, Hawks, of course not. Why you’re looking 
better.” 

“Astonishes ye, don’t it? You see, I hain’t no 
notion er dying yit awhile.” 

The old man took a long pull at the bottle, and 
then uncovered the wound in his side. The very 
sight of it made Alfred sick and faint. 

“If you’d seen that old fellar up yonder, you’d 
laugh at a thing like this ’ere. He was as bloody 
as a butcher.” 

With a shudder Alfred turned his eyes away from 
the sickening sight. 

“Don’t, Hawks! don’t speak of it — what’s the 
use. Come now. Hawks, wdien will you go away?” 
“Soon’s I git ready, boss; and that won’t be long 
arter I git able. Ye see my work is done ; and I 
hain’t no notion staying here to be hanged about 
your ’ll.” 

“Hawks, what was the matter with you and 
Trippe ?” 

“Is he dead?” asked the old man, eagerly. 

“They say that he is dying!’’ 

“D’ye ’spose you could see him?” 

“Perhaps I might — why, Hawks?” 

With compressed lips the old man lay for a few 
moments without speaking; but presently turned 
to Guerry. 

“ Young man ! you’d like to git rid of me, wouldn’t- 
ye now— say?” 

“ Of course, Hawks, I want you to go away. Do- 
you suppose I want to see you caught?” 

“Not very likely — might go hard with some other 
folks! eh? Can’t trust the old man, eh?” 

He looked up with a leer and winked his eye at 


204 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Alfred ; but the malicious, venomous look soon re* 
turned to his face. 

. “See here, boss — ef you’ll go thar, and say one 
word in his ear. I’ll leave you forever.” 

“What is it? — what is the word?” 

“If you’ll whisper it tu him, and come back tu let 
me know, you’ll never hear of old Hawks agin — I’ll 
make yer fortin’ in the bargain. Say that word and 
I’ll give ye suthin, that young fellar over thar, 
would give a fortin’ to git.” 

“Who, Hawks, Stannard? Will you give me his 
secret?” 

“I’ll give ye anything ” 

“ What is the word. Hawks? I’ll do my best.” 
“Mary!” almost shrieked the old man, rising to a 
sitting posture, and raising his long gaunt arms. 
“You say that in his ear, and I’ll ask no more of 
you. Just come here to see the old man,” he con- 
tinued sinking back upon the bed, “who’s made yer 
fortin’, ’till he gits able tu travel, and you’ll never 
see a blaze on him in these parts agin.” 

The old man turned his face to the wall, and paid 
no attention to Alfred’s questions; but at length he 
rose, and tears stood in his eyes. 

“Who was she, boy? All in the world* that old 
Hawks had to live for. When you’ve a darter of 
your own, then may be ye’ll know what she was to 
me. Leave here now — go do what I told ye. Go 
marry that gal, and take yer fortin’ — I’d had no 
hand in it but to git this money.” 

He slapped the pillow beneath which he had 
placed the twenty^ve hundred dollars that Alfred 
had paid him, and continued : 

“I needed that, ye see, and have helped you tu git 
it — that’s all. You jist come here between whiles 
till this cussed thing is well; and you’ll never hear 
more of me.” 

Again he turned away and Alfred could get no 
further response from him. For a few moments he 
gazed at the old man lying there before him, won- 
dering at his strange life and singular historv, then 
left the hut in silence. 

Every day or two he visited the old man, who 


THE ILLEGAL MAHUIAGE. 


205 


Seemed to be failing daily, although his wound was 
healing. A deep-seated cough had set in, and the 
hollow eyes and sunken chest were not the only 
signs that old Hawks was rapidly nearing his last 
day on earth. 

Not yet had Alfred been able to see Doctor Trippe, 
although he had skulked about the house night 
after night for an opportunity to speak that one 
word in his ear. He dared not enter the house 
boldly; yet he was ready to dare much to' get pos- 
session of Stannard’s secret, which was to be the 
price of his work. Not a moment did he think of 
the sick man within ; nor did he care what the re- 
sult might be so that the work was accomplished. 

Spending the greater part of his time in the Echa- 
connee woods, he had visited Macon but once, and 
with the result already related. That he had been 
cheated Avith regard to Cecy Morgan’s property he 
now believed, and his anger turned upon Stannard, 
the only man of the three who was an unwilling 
party to the deception — if it could be called one 
under the peculiar circumstances of the case. 

Burning for revenge — for what he could not tell — 
Alfred had again sought Cecy to be denied her 
presence. From his hiding-place he saiv Stannard 
enter the jail, and from that moment the ground 
seemed sinking from beneath his feet. 

“ What have I gained,” he thought, while stand- 
ing beside his horse in the Avoods ; “ Avhat have I 
gained at last? Cecy is lost to me — I cannot replace 
his money — detection and — ” 

He trembled at the thought, and for the first time 
the consequences of detection came home to his 
mind. 

Sullen and moody he rode back to Echaconnee, 
knoAving that he, too, must follow old HaAvks, and 
both together leave the country. 

It was near midnight when he reached the Echa- 
connee bridge, and riding across it, dismounted in a 
clump of pines, intending to pay old HaAvks a visit, 
and tell him that the Avorst had come. 

Scarcely had he again stepped into the road be- 
fore a man, Avell-dressed and evidently a stranger 


20G 


THE ILLEGAL MAREIAGE, 


in those parts, walked by him on the opposite side 
of tlie way. He sprang into the pines, and a deathly 
sickness came over him. 

“That man!” he said to himself — have seen 
him before. They are on the track at last.” 

Hastily mounting, he rode rapidly up the road, 
nor did he stop until some miles away. 

“I’m on the right track, at last,” said Appling to 
himself, as he looked over the brow of the hill and 
saw Alfred galloping along the sandy road. 

“I knew it was somewhere here,” the detective 
thought, “ and I shall soon have my birds. ” 

Selecting a place for a lookout, Appling walked 
back to Stannard’s house, well satisfied with his 
night’s work. 

It was near daylight when Alfred Guerry reached 
his father’s house, and putting his jaded horse in 
the stable, he sat down on the porch to wait until 
some one was stirring within. 

At length he heard a sound, and ventured to rap 
at the door. His father came to it. The old man 
started back in alarm as he saw the pale, haggard 
face, and disordered dress of his son. 

“Why, Alfred!” he exclaimed, “is it you? My 
son, what is the matter with you?” 

“Nothing is the matter with me.” 

“ But why — Alfred, you look as if vou had been 
out all night.” 

“ And so I have, father, and you’d look so too, if 
you had ridden from Perry, as I have. Let me go 
to my room before they all get up.” 

“Have you seen Miss Morgan?” 

“I left her last night,” he answered, petulantly. 
“Let me go now, and I’ll answer questions when I 
get up.” 

“Heaven grant, my son, that you may have done 
nothing wrong,” the white-haired old man said to 
himself, as his wayward son went up the stairs. 

It was late in the day when Alfred came down to 
meet his family, and little satisfaction could they 
get in questioning him about Cecy. He was silent 
and moody. As he again mounted his horse to go 
back to Perry, as they supposed, the little family 




THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 207 

• « 

watched him sadly, each feeling what none would 
express, a sense of impending evil. Standing upon 
his porch, gazing after his only son, the aged 
minister prayed fervently that Heaven might bless 
him and direct his steps aright. 

Leaving his horse in the woods, Alfred gained the 
hill by a circuitous route, and, creeping along the 
fences until near the hut, descended to it, noise- 
lessly and in terror. 

Like a guilty thing, pursued by a thousand fears, 
he crept over the logs, starting at each twig that 
broke beneath his feet ; nor did he breathe freely 
until the door had closed behind him. 

The old man struck a light. 

“It’s all up. Hawks; they are after us.” 

“ How do ye know?” Hawks asked, quickly fixing 
his eyes upon Alfred’s ashen face. “Answer me — 

how do ye know? Have you been ” 

Reaching behind him. Hawks laid his hand upon 
his rifie, ere he continued : 

“Have you bin blowing? How ” 

“I haven’t betrayed you, if that’s what you mean. 
You know I dare not. Let me tell you.” 

Sitting upon the edge of his pallet. Hawks listened 
to the story in silence. 

“Let us get away. Hawks,” Alfred said at length ; 
“ I am sure we cannot stay here without being found 
out.” 

“ And what have you done — suppose we air found 
out.” 

“What’s the use of asking that. Hawks, when 
you have that paper against me? Wouldn’t it im- 
plicate me in the murder, too.” 

“Suppose I’ve burnt it — what then?” 

“Hawks! how do you suppose I got that money?” 
“Oh! ho! the old game was it? How’d you do it, 
now?” 

Without disguise Alfred told him the story, and 
old Hawks listened in silence. Alfred had to con- 
fess that his last hope was gone, and once more 
begged the old man to go away while they could. 

“How’s the doctor?” asked Hawks, abruptly 
changing the conversation. 


208 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


“They sav he can’t live. I heard at home that he 
wouldn’t live but a few days more.” 

The statement was false, but Alfred ^understood 
the motive which prompted the question. 

“Then I’ll go when' you've done what I told ye.” 
“But, Hawks, it ain’t safe — indeed, it is not.” 

“I’ll risk it, anyhow.* I don’t stir a step from here 
’till you’ve done it, so jist stir your stumps. I want 
tu sleep, tu, so jist leave me, will ye?” 

“ Couldn’t I stay here for to-night. Hawks? I have 
no place near that I know of. I can sleep here.” 
“Couldn’t think of it, boss,” said the old man, 
with a leer, laying one linger beside his nose. “My 
boy, that cat won’t jump.” 

“Hawks, you don’t think I would try to harm 
you?” 

“ One or tother on us might git murderous in our 
sleep, d’ye see? I don’t want my rest spilt. Don’t 
want to hurry ye, though.” 

Alfred could say no more, but left the hut, and 
crept carefully up the hill. Crouching along the 
fence he came to the coppice in which he had left 
his horse ; but before reaching the spot his heart 
leaped into his mouth as he saw the shadow of a 
man disappearing in the pines. 

Go where he could now, that terrible shadow was 
ever hovering near him. Thenceforth he had but 
one object. In one way only could he hope to get 
old Hawks out of the country, and his mind was 
bus}^ with plans for accomplishing this purpose. 

Hiding away by day — stopping at various small 
houses about the country to get food for himself 
and horse — every night found him near Stannard’s 
house, watching for an opportunity to get alone 
into the sick man’s room. 

At length came the evening of Crawford’s visit. 
Not suspecting Stannard’s presence, Alfred had 
gone earlier than usual, and was bidden in the 
bushes beyond the garden fences, when the two 
men came out with Doctor Pierce. 

Peering through the trees, he saw them on the 
veranda, shaking hands with the doctor, and a 
moment later watched Stannard and his friend as 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE. 


209 


they lighted their cigars and strolled down the 
road. 

The sun had already set, and the long evening 
twilight was beginning. From his covert, Alfred 
followed them with his eyes until beyond the 
grounds, and glancing into the sick-room saw no 
one there. 

Parting the bushes, he sprang over the garden 
fence and entered the hall. There was no one in 
sight. Passing into the room without being ob- 
served, he stepped toward the bed upon which 
Doctor Trippe was lying. 

Fatigued by conversation with his friends, Trippe 
had fallen asleep, and Alfred crept noiselessly to 
the bedside. For a second or two he stood above 
the slumbering man, and, gazing upon his placid 
face, wondered what could be the secret which had 
the power to make that old man live as he did — to 
risk even life itself, for the sake of revenge? What 
and who was the Mary who had caused this feud 
between men of such widely different spheres? 

Time was too precious to be wasted in profitless 
speculation, and bending over the quiet face, Alfred 
whispered the name in his ear. Trippe slowly 
opened his eyes, and Alfred sank down beside the 
bed. 

Every moment he dreaded the arrival of some 
one, but until the lamps were lighted, he hoped to 
escape unrecognized. 

“Hawks!” said Trippe, in a low tone. 

Ho answer came, and again he spoke. 

“ Hawks ! I know you are near me. This is your 
last chance; will you listen to me? I have borne 
long with you ; but for the sake of my wife and 
children I shall do so no longer. Do you hear me?” 

“Yes; speak,” whispered Alfred, “unless some 
one comes.” 

“ Keep quiet and I will send them out. It was a 
great risk for you to come here, but I am glad you 
came.” 

A step was heard near the door, and Mrs. Trippe, 
with a lamp in her hand, and humming an air, 
came to the door. 


210 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAOE. 


“Be quiet,” said Trippe, and Alfred crouched low 
in the corner. 

“ My dear, please leave me alone for a few mo- 
ments — I want to think here in the twilight,” said 
the doctor to his wife. 

“Shall I come in and sit with you?” 

“After a little. Give me a half-hour with my 
own thoughts. I’ll call you presently.” 

They were alone again, and once more Trippe 
spoke in an undertone. 

“Hawks, endurance has ceased to be a virtue 
with me. For years you have refused to listen to 
me, or I would have told you where she was. Do 
you hear me?” 

Again Alfred whispered in response. 

“You treated her cruelly. Hawks, or she would 
never have left you ; and you had not the slightest 
reason so long as she was in your house. 1 saw her 
less than a year ago, and she thinks you are dead. 

“ Hawks, I did not undeceive her. For her sake I 
let her suppose you dead, to keep you from destroy- 
ing, her present happiness. Had you acted reason- 
ably with me, I should have told you her story long 
ago; but you followed me here, and I did not fear 
you. For any wrong that I have done you. Hawks, 
I am ready to make reparation; but you have 
always been mistaken. To keep you from abusing 
Mary — from beating her even — do you hear, Hawks? 
from beating her! she wanted you to think her 
dead. 

“You accused me of killing her. Had you shown 
any signs of relenting, I should have told you where 
she lived. 

“ Hawks, unless you give me a solemn promise to 
treat her kindly — a promise which you dare not 
break, I shall not tell you her name or where she is. 

“Fail to keep that promise, and I shall have you 
arrested for attempted murder. For her sake I 
have shielded you thus far — now take your choice.” 

He paused for a moment and seemed'to wait for a 
response, but Alfred merely moved to show that he 
was there, not daring to speak. 

“Another thing, Hawks,” Trippe continued; “I 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE. 


211 


could easily have you hanged for the murder of 
Morgan. 1 saw you, covered with blood as you 
were before you shot at me ; but I happened to 
know the circumstances.” 

Trembling in every limb, Alfred listened to these 
words, and a rash thought flashed through his mind 
which added to his excitement. Could he put this 
man out of the way without detection? Even to 
himself he had to confess that he was too cowardly. 

“Listen, Hawks; I don’t want to harm you, but 
this thing must stop. Take your choice — it is the 
last offer. One thing more : what have you 'to do 
with young Guerry ? It took many years for his 
poor old father to make up that sum to Mr. Carter — 
and another thing like that would kill him. Are 
you holding that old paper against him?” 

Something like a sob fell on Trippe’s ear, and he 
listened eagerly for a moment ere he continued : 

. “ If you have any pity in your soul, let that boy 
alone. As for myself, I defy you ; but I give you 
one week’s time. If you are here when I get up 
again I shall hand you over to the authorities, unless 

you give me your promise to ” 

The slamming of the gate interrupted Trippe, and 
they heard voices in the yard. Guerry sprang to 
the door, but saw Stannard and Crawford entering 
the hall. Crouching in the corner, nearly con- 
cealed, in the feeble light of the room, by a large 
chair, he breathlessly waited for a chance to escape. 


212 


ms ILLEGAL MABBIAQE, 


CHAPTER XX. 

•X 

OLD HAWKS GIVES STANNARD A VALUABLE PACKET 

OF PAPERS— HIS STORY. 

“Why, Trippe,” said Stannard. entering the room, 
“alone here in the dark? Why don’t you have the 
lights in?” 

“I wanted to reflect a little in the twilight. 
Where have you been roaming?” 

“Down to the creek. Crawford, come in here; 
Trippe doesn’t mind a bit of smoke.” 

“I rather like it. I’d like to try a cigar myself.” 

Crawford sauntered lazily into the room and went 
to Trippe’s bedside. Taking advantage of a second 
when their backs were turned, Alfred sprang into 
the hall, and running to the end of the porch, 
leaped into the garden. 

“What was that?” cried Stannard, starting for 
the door; “I’m sure a man left this room.” 

Crawford followed him to the garden, but they 
could see nothing, and returned to be joked by 
Trippe about the delusion. 

Still Stannard could not drive it from his mind, 
nor could he believe that he was mistaken in his 
impression, but he said no more, and joined in the 
conversation of his friends. 

But a few }^ards beyond the house was a corn-field 
running out to the woodland, and into this Alfred 
ran, not feeling safe from pursuit until he had 
reached the swamps. 

Concealing himself in a clump of bushes, he sat 
down to rest, and to think over the words that had 
fallen from the doctor’s lips. 

“What a fool I have been !” he said to himself; 
“to let that old man cheat me in this way. Had I 
gone to my father honestly, I should have known 
that the money was paid and that he had no hold 
upon me. Yet how can I break away from him 
even now?” 


THE ILLEGAL MAERIAGE, 213 

It was with bitter regret that he thought of the 
past, and saw how easy it would have been to fol- 
low the path of rectitude, and how hard it was to 
pursue the path of crime. 

Trying in vain to find some solution to his troubles, 
Alfred started across the bridge, and pausing a mo- 
ment, plunged into the swamp. 

Appling started up close behind him. 

“I have them both at last,” he said to himself, as 
he followed along the narrow path ; and coming to 
the open space, he watched Alfred as he disap- 
peared between the logs. A faint gleam" of light 
told the rest of the story, and retracing his steps, 
the detective went to Raborn’s house to make 
preparations for the arrest. 

In less than half an hour, Appling, with the con- 
stable and two men to assist them in case of resist- 
ance, were on their way to the hut. 

Meantime Alfred had entered, and without a word 
took a low stool in the corner. Not yet had he been 
able to decide upon a proper course, nor could he 
make up his mind whether or not he should tell old 
Hawks what he had heard in Stannard’s house. 

“Well, what’s the matter now?” said Hawks, after 
waiting for him to speak; “you seem mighty un- 
sociable to-night.” 

“You would be, I reckon, if you had been through 
what I have.” 

“Well, what is it? Relieve yer mind, if yer gwine 
to. No use being all night about it.” 

“Let me think a minute, can’t you?” said Alfred, 
snappishly ; “ I have enough to tell, I assure you of 
that.” 

“Out with it, then — have you bin up yonder?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you see him? Did you say what I told you?” 
asked Hawks, eagerly. 

“Yes, I have. Hawks — he talked to me for half 
an hour.” 

“What, talked to you? Ain’t he done for, then*? 
Did he know ye? Come, boy, out with it, can’t ye?” 

“He thought it was you.” 


214 


THE ILLEGAL MAllRIAOE. 


“Of course, of course,” said the old man, rubbing 
his hands. “Goon.” 

“ He said you were mistaken, that Mary was alive 
and well ” 

“What? Say that agin, alive?” 

“Yes, Hawks; alive and well, and doing well, 
an (1 ” 

With a groan the old man sank back upon his 
pallet, and covered his face with his hands. 

“He said that this was your last chance — you 
would never see her unless ” 

“Yes; where is she — where is she?” he inter- 
rupted, quickly raising his head. 

“That he won’t tell unless you promise not to 
abuse her — not to trouble her.” 

Once more Hawks covered his face, and Alfred 
continued with the story. Without a word the old 
man listened, now and then rocking his head to 
and fro as if in deep distress. Alfred began to be 
alarmed at his manner. 

“Come, Hawks, what’s the matter? What’s all 
this about?” 

“ What else did he say — tell the whole on it, can’t 
ye?” 

“ Hawks, I have told you the whole of it — all I 
can remember. He said that you might have until 
he got up to make up your mind. Then, if he found 
you here he would liave you arrested for murder.” 

“Did he say that? Did he say he’d tell me where 
— where ” 

Convulsive sobs seemed to stop his speech, but 
Alfred knew what he intended to ask. 

“Wliere Mary is? Didn’t I tell you so?” said 
Alfred, pettishly. 

“You needn’t be so rough about it though,” the 
old man replied, in a gentler tone than Alfred had 
ever before heard from his lips. 

“Now, Hawks, I’ve done what you told me — when 
are you going? Can you go in the morning? 
Hawks, let us s art at once.” 

There was no reply, and Alfred doubted if the 
question had been heard. 

“Say, Hawks, will you go to-morrow? Where are 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


215 


the papers you promised me? I’ve done your work, 
and now ” 

“S’st,” interrupted Hawks, with a sudden bound 
to his feet; “what is that?” 

^ There were voices at the door, and seizing his 
rifle old Hawks pointed it at the head of the terri- 
fled young man. 

“Before Heaven, Hawks, I swear it was not I,” 
cried Alfred, falling upon his knees. “ Hawks, they 
are after me, too.” 

“Alfred Guerry and Abner Hawks, I arrest you 
in the name of the law,” said Raborn, from without. 
“Will you give yourselves uj) quietly, or must we 
use force.” 

“It’s all right,” said Hawks, in a low tone; “but 
at any other time you’d be a dead man;” and turn- 
ing to the door he slipped the bolt. “Come in, 
Raborn, I know you. I should have given up in 
the mornin’ anyhow. Come in if you want — if not 
we’ll come out.” 

The officers came into the little room and laid 
their hands on the prisoners. 

“Gently, now — gently, Raborn,” said old Hawks. 
“A man with a charge of bird-shot in his side can’t 
do much in the way of a flght. Here’s my rifle — 
send the rest out for a minnit, will ye?” 

Raborn took the rifle and waited until Appling 
had bound Alfred’s hands, and led him from the 
room, then turned to Hawks. 

“Hurry up, now — we’ve no time to spare.” 

“I won’t hinder ye, Raborn. I jist want to git a 
few of my trucks here.” 

Raising the pillow. Hawks took a package of 
papers, and slipping them into his pocket, held his 
hands together before the constable. 

“Didn’t expect to see the old Hawk so quiet, did 
ye, Raborn? If you’d waited till mornin’ I’d a saved 
ye the trouble a coming. Lay the old rifle under 
cover thar, Raborn, and tie me, if ye want.” 

Covering the rifle with a blanket, Raborn took a 
cord from his pocket, but immediately returned it. 

“Go on. Hawks— never mind about that.” 


216 


THE ILLEGAL MAEEIAGE. 


“Much obliged, Raborn, I sha’n’t trick ye. Put 
out the light arter ye.” 

On the dry-bridge a wagon was waiting, and in 
this the prisoners were taken to Raborn’s house. 
Alfred was nearly paralyzed with terror ; nor did 
he utter a word during the night except to ask that 
the news of his arrest might be kept from his 
father as long as possible. 

That he was arrested tor forgery, and that he 
would be tried for complicity in the murder of old 
Morgan, he now believed ; and in no way could he 
think of an excuse for escape. Refusing to answer 
any questions, he sat in moody and sullen silence 
during that long night giving way entirely to the 
despondency which had taken possession of him. 

It was a slow and tedious drive to Perry on the 
following day, and it was late in the evening before 
the party reached the county jail. 

Alfred felt his knees shaking beneath him as he 
saw Stannard there, and would have concealed 
himself if possible ; but if the kindness of the man 
he had wronged gave him courage for the moment, 
it did not les»en the hatred that he had been cher- 
ishing in his lieart. 

Clutching Stannard’s card in his hand he breathed 
curses upon him, and swore to be revenged if it was 
ever in his power. 

Nearly an hour passed, and he was roused by 
Stannard ’s voice at the door of the next cell in 
which old Hawks had been placed. Pressing his ear 
against the crack of the door, he listened intently 
to catch the conversation that was going on in the 
passage. 

“Doctor, you go in and attend the old man,” he 
heard Stannard say; “and, Harris, this basket is for 
Guerry. Open that wine for him before sending 
it in— and this too. Tin’s is for the old man. Harris ! 
do the best you can for them to-night, won’t you?” 

“Certainly I will, colonel, anything I can ” 

“And, Harris— be sure not to let her hear it.” 

“ Colonel I” called the doctor, “ will you step in here 
for a moment?” 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


217 


Alfred could hear no more, but retreated to liis 
pallet, as he heard the jailer at his door. 

Entering the cell, Stannard walked to the bed 
upon which old Hawks was lying. Beckoning him 
nearer, Hawks asked for a moment alone, and 
hearing the request the doctor walked into the 
passage. 

A violent burst of coughing prevented the old 
man from speaking at once, and he pressed his 
hand upon the wounded side. 

“Colonel, you air a humane man. and I want you 

to tell me suthing — will you tell me? Idl — I’ll ” 

the cough again interrupted his speech. 

“ Tell me what it is, Hawks. I shall never forget 
that you saved my father’s life.” 

“You know my — my Mary?” 

“Yes, Hawks; I knew her once.” 

The old man rose upon his elbow and eagerly 
grasped Stannard’s hand. 

“Where is she? Tell me where she is?” 

“Hawks, I thought she was dead — is she not?” 

“I thought so too, till yesterday — that — that— 
Trippe says she’s not. For Heaven’s sake, colonel, 
tell me.” 

“ Indeed I would tell you. Hawks, if I knew, but I 

have never heard a word from her since ” 

“Hasn’t he spoke of her?” 

“Never. I always thought she was dead. Have 
you seen Trippe? Hawks, did you shoot him?” 

“Ask him? Will you ask him about her? Will 
you find out for me?” 

“I’ll ask him if you desire me to do so?” 

“Do! Oh, do! I’ll serve you all my life if you 
will. Here!” 

Drawing the packet of papers from his pocket, 
old Hawks handed them to Stannard, and his hands 
trembled with eagerness. 

“ Here ; the money he” — nodding his head toward 
Alfred’s cell — he giv me. It’syor’n; and here’s a 
lot of letters ” 

“Hawks! where did you get these?” cried Stan- 
nard, grasping them quickly as he recognized the 
hand. “Where did you get them?” 


m 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


“Wait a minnit, and I’ll tell ye. I followed you 
to France.” 

“Followed me, Hawks!” Stannard exclaimed, in 
surprise. “Wliat did you follow me for?” 

“Read this and you’ll see,” said Hawks, extending 
a note, worn and soiled from long use, and bearing 
a date some years before. 

Stannard unfolded the yellow paper and glanced 
at the signature, then hastily run his eyes over the 
words. The first j^art was blurred and torn. 

“ * * * * blow you shall give me, and henceforth you may 

consid * * * * shall leave the country forever and go to France, 
where * * * ■v\dll take care of me.” 

The name and many of the words were illegible. 

“Hawks, whose name was there when you got it?” 

“I don’t know; it was jist so then. It was wet 
and torn when I found it first.” 

Stannard saw that the letter was intended to de- 
ceive, and read on. 

“ You need not try to find me for I shall change both country and 
name. He has always been good and kind to me, and I am forced to 
seek his protection now from my own father. Your suspicions of me 
are all untrue. 

“If ever you think of me think that a blow from your own hand 
killed your daughter. Maby.” 

“Did you beat her. Hawks?” 

“I was mad — I was mad! I did not know what I 
was doing, colonel. I would have given my life to 
have got her back.” 

The old man buried his face in his hands, and 
sobbed out his self accusations. 

As well as he could, interrupted both by fits of 
remorse and fits of coughing. Hawks told the story 
of his daughter’s flight. 

It would be painful to follow the old man’s words, 
broken as they were, and slowly uttered, and the 
story can be more briefly told. 

Stannard was still abroad when Mary Hawks left 
her home, driven away by her father’sViolence and 
suspicions ; and knowing that she could find no 
acquaintance but him in France, naturally sup- 
posed that Mary had gone to join him. 

Hawks determined to follow her, but lacked the 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE, 


219 


means. At this time fate threw an opportunity in 
his way. Alfred Giierry was then in Macon, a 
student in a lawyer’s office, and through him HaAvks 
determined to obtain the money for his trip abroad 
to find his daughter, and to revenge himself upon 
her betrayer. 

It did not take long for the old man to get a hold 
upon the boy, for tlie first time away from the 
restraints of home, and he soon formed a plan which 
was carried out Avith success. 

The laAvyer Avith Avhom Alfred was reading had 
maii}^ clients in the country, among tlieni a widoAv 
by the name of Carter, avIio had just sent in her 
crop of cotton to be sold. 

Learning that the AvidoAv had sent to the laAvyer 
for money. Hawks led the boy to forge an, order in 
Mrs. Carter’s name, for the proceeds of the sale. 
Alfred presented it to the cotton brokers. 

KnoAving him to be in the office of Mrs. Carter’s 
laAvyer, the money Avas paid Avithout demur by 
Messrs. Trippe & Johnson, the brokers. Old HaAvks 
met the boy at the corner and took the money from 
his hand. 

“You’ll be sure and return it to-morrow,” said 
Alfred, at that moment. 

“Certainly! Yes! yes!” replied old HaAvks. “I'll 
return it to-morroAv, Avith the hundred for you.” 

A man passing heard these words, and hastened 
into the office of the brokers. 

“Brother John,” said Doctor Trippe, the man who 
had seen the money taken from Alfred; “to av horn 
have you just paid money?” 

“To young Guerry — on WidoAv Carter’s order.” 

“Let me see it, please.” 

Trippe ran his eye over the paper, and knoAving to 
whom the money had been paid, at once pronounced 
it a forgery. 

Procuring an officer they Avent to arrest the 
parties, but old HaAvks had floAvn.' Terrified be- 
yond measure, Alfred confessed the deed. 

“Henry,” said John Trippe, kindly to his brother, 
“we must save the boy — for his .father’s sake Ave 
must spare him— he was led into it.” 


220 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AOK 


“The old villain!” said the doctor, “I knew he 
was up to some rascality.” 

Putting the order in his pocket. Doctor Trippe 
rode to Echaconnee, and laid the case before 
Alfred’s father. As ill able as he was to pay the 
money he promised to do so if they would spare his 
son. Trippe assured him that he need not fear — he 
would assume Johnson’s share of the present loss, 
and he and his brother would wait until the money 
could be paid. 

Two years passed, Alfred was sent to college, and 
Trippe settled at Echaconnee. One evening the 
doctor was sitting at his desk when old Hawks 
burst into the room. 

“My daughter! You villain! Where is my 
daugliter?” he shrieked, and, raising a stick in his 
hand, struck at the doctor’s head. 

A desperate struggle ensued in which the superb 
physical strength of Trippe alone saved him from 
death. Finding that he could accomplish nothing^ 
Hawks grasped a package of papers which were 
lying on the desk, and ran from the house. 

Among those papers was the order forged by 
Alfred Guerry. 

With the money first obtained he had gone to 
France, and followed Stannard to Switzerland, 
where all trace of him was lost ; but one day he 
heard of Stannard ’s private marriage in Geneva, 
and believed that Adela was his own daughter. 
For many months he sought this woman, and at 
last found her in a low cellar in Besancon, and 
upon her death-bed. 

Finding that it was not Mary, Hawks was about 
to leave; but the dying woman detained him, and, 
telling him Stannard’s story, she placed a packet in 
his hand. 

The next day Hawks found himself in a burning 
fever, and for two weeks was confined to his bed. 
When he recovered the young woman was dead 
and buried ; and, obtaining a copy of the record. 
Hawks placed it with the packet and started for 
home. 

Soon after his return he traced Mary to Macon, 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


221 


and there learned that she had been seen with 
Doctor Trippe. Burning for revenge he sought 
Trippe, and attacked him as stated above. 

Again the two men met, and Trippe, wishing to 
shield Mary from her father’s wrath, told him that 
she was dead. For a moment Hawks seemed 
stunned at the news, and without a word plunged 
into the woods. Thenceforth he had but one object 
in life — to kill the man who had, he believed, caused 
the death of Mary. 

Building this secret hut in the Echaconnee swamp, 
he had lived there for the past years, subsisting as 
best he could, and waiting, like a tiger for his prey, 
to slay the man who had deprived him of a 
daughter. Many times had he seen the doctor 
riding by ; but only twice had he been able to hit 
him. 

Almost breathlessly Stannard listened to this 
strange story. Hawks fell back exhausted upon 
his bed, and Stannard looked upon him with pity, 
while he wondered at his endurance, and the ad- 
mirable courage of Trippe. 

“Hawks!” he said at length, “why did you not 
give me these papers before?” 

“Because I wanted money.” 

“But I would have given you any price for them.” 
“How could I know that? With young Guerry I 
was sure. I had the power to make him give me 
the money if he married Miss Morgan. I couldn’t 
do any tiling with you. I wanted money to go away 
arter I had done my work.” 

“Oh, Hawks! Hawks! You do not know what 
you have done,” cried Stannard, as he thought how 
m ch sorrow might have been spared, had he 
known the truth earlier. 

“You were wrong about Trippe— indeed you are. 
It was noble in him to protect her at the risk of his 
life, but I am certain as I live. Hawks, that he 
never wronged either her or you.” 

“Mebbe you’re right, colonel ” 

“Colonel Stannard,” said Harris, entering the 
room, “are you aware how late it is? I shall be 
obliged to close, 


222 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


Hastily leaving the cell with an apology to the 
jailer, Stannard walked back to ^his room, and 
eagerly tore open the packet of letters. 

It was late in the night when he ceased reading, 
but he laid aside the last paper with a lighter heart 
than he had felt for many a month. 

“And so I was a dupe throughout,” he said to 
himself when retiring; “even the reputed priest 
was a confederate — a gambler — a thief. Worse 
still, he was Adela’s lawful husband. Heavens! 
how can men and women sink so low?” 

He retired, but could not sleep. 

“It takes sleep from my eyes,” he mmsed, “when I 
think of that man, who, for paltry gold, pretended 
to marry me to his own wife. But he has paid the 
penalty of his crimes.” 


THE ILLEGAL MARIUAGK 


223 


CHAPTER XXI. 

MISS MORGAN’S TRIAL FOR MURDER. 

Morning came — the morning of Cecy Morgan’s 
trial, and Stannard was roused from his bed by a 
rap at liis door, and Crawford spoke to him. It was 
near ten o’clock. 

Hastily dressing, Stannard went to his friend’s 
room and found Martin there, conversing with 
Appling. 

“I have just come from the jail,” Martin said, 
“and believe I have everything ready.” 

“You followed my instructions about Guerry?” 

“ Certainly, Stannard, I told him that there would 
be no charge against him, but that he would be 
detained as a witness.” 

“What did he say?” Stannard asked, feeling pity 
for the young man who had been so weak as to be 
led astray in the manner Alfred had been. 

“Nothing; he takes it very coolly, it seems to 
me.” 

“I have no right to blame him,” thought Stan- 
nard, “for it would be hard to find a man who had 
been duped worse than I have been. Had I been 
poor, perhaps I, too, might have stooped to crime.” 
“Crawford saw Hawks,” Martin continued, “and 
had a long talk with him, I believe.” 

“ Is that so, Peyton ?” 

“Yes, I was with him some time. He volunteers 
as a witness in Miss Morgan’s behalf.” 

“Did he see it? Was he there that night?” 

“Yes — so he says. His story agrees with those we 
have already — clinches the matter, in fact.” 

“Come, it is time to go,” said Martin. “Stannard, 
you are to go for Miss Morgan. We will meet you 
at the court-room.” 

A closed carriage stood at the door, and Stannard 
drove to the jail. She was ready for him, and took 


224 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


his arm at the door, Rahorn following them down 
the stairs. 

They had reached the hall below when Hawks 
was led out, and catching a sight of his face, Cecy 
started back with a cry, and stood gazing at him in 
terror. 

“Who is that?” she asked, quietly. “Who is he? 
It is the face that I saw in our garden.” 

“I know it, Cecy,” Stannard answered, “he has 
volunteered to testify in your favor. Come, I fear 
we are late — Raborn is impatient.” 

Fearing every moment that Alter d Guerry would 
appear, Stannard hurried Cecy from the jail, and 
followed her into the carriage. 

The court-room was densely crowded when they 
arrived, and it was with difficulty that a passage 
was cleared for them. In deep mourning and 
heavily vailed, Cecy entered, leaning on Stannard’s 
arm. 

The buzz and hum of the crowd was hushed for a 
moment, as they passed up to the bar, and Cecy 
took her seat in the prisoners’ box. Stannard drew 
a stool close beside her. 

Not once did Cecy turn her head, nor did she raise 
her eyes until ordered to unvail, when she fixed 
them upon the judge. She dare not look around 
upon that buzzing crowd anxious to get a glimpse 
of her face. 

Ogletree, the overseer, was first examined, and 
gave the same testimony that he had given before 
the coroner’s jury ; but the strict examination drew 
from him an account of the scene in the garden. 

Barton, and Davis, and Carrol, were each upon 
the stanrl, but to little purport. At length Stan- 
nard’s name was called. He could tell no more 
than he had already told at the inquest, but he gave 
the evidence with less reluctance, and with a con- 
fident air tliat had its effect upon the jury. 

Yet there were times when Cecy felt her heart 
sinking, as she saw how strong the circumstances 
were against her, and heard the murmurings of the 
bystanders whenever a strong point was made by 
the prosecution. 


THE ILLEGAL MAEItlAGE. 


225 


That terrible morning was brought back to her 
mind with a clearness she had not thought possible, 
and more than once she herself was persuaded that 
her father had really been murdered, although she 
knew herself innocent. 

But when they spoke of that bloody knife in her 
hand — when they showed — or assumed to show the 
strongest proofs against her — she began to wonder 
if it were really possible for one to commit such a 
crime when in an unconscious state. With the 
keenest interest she now watched the proceedings, 
listening now and then to the whisperings of the 
crowd beyond the bar. 

It was a great relief to her when Stannard re- 
turned to her side, and when she heard that the 
court was ready to hear the defense. What could 
it all mean? What would be the result, should they 
find her guilty of murder? 

She turned her eyes upon Crawford’s handsome 
face as he rose near her, gaining courage from the 
first words that fell from his lips. 

“ I have here, your honor, and gentlemen of the 
jury,” Crawford said, in his clear, musical voice, 
“the affidavit of the surgeon who attended Mr. 
Morgan before his death who was with him when 
he died, and who made a scientific post-mortem of 
the wounds. 

“It will be seen here — on the testimony of an 
expert — that no murder was committed, and we 
hope to bring forward substantial evidence that 
must place the matter beyond a doubt. This 
affi ” 

The noise and confusion at the door drowned 
Crawford’s voice, and he turned angrily in that 
direction. 

“Silence in court!” the sheriff cried, but with no 
effect; and again he repeated the words at the top 
of his voice. 

Still the crowd was pushing and swaying by the 
door ; and out of patience at last, Crawford appealed 
to the court. 

“Mr. Sheriff, will you clear the room?” said the 


226 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


judge, rising on the bench; “we cannot have this 
confusion.” 

Crawford tapped his table petulantly as he saw 
the crowd dividing near the bar ; but in a moment 
the look of annoyance passed from his face, and he 
sprang forward eagerly as he recognized the "pale, 
wan face of Doctor Trippe. 

“An important witness for the defense, your 
honor,” said Martin, rising; and he, too, stepped 
down the aisle. 

Assisted by two men, Trippe came up slowly, and 
behind him, with a pillow in her hand, was his little 
wife, every moment springing to his side as she saw 
signs of fatigue. 

Mrs. Trippe stepped near Cecy, and said in a low 
tone : 

“ How sorry I am, dear, that we arrived so late — I 
wanted to come in with you, when I found he 
would come. We had to drive very slowly, as you 
understand.” 

Tears gathered in Cecy^s eyes as she endeavored 
to bow her thanks, and to express her gratitude for 
this kindly sympathy. 

On the day that Crawford and Stannard had left 
him, Trippe appeared to acquiesce in their opinions, 
and he had said nothing to them of his intention 
when he had sworn to the affidavit ; but no sooner 
had they left the house on the following morning 
than he expressed his determination to go to Perry. 

In vain his wife begged and prayed him to re- 
main. 

“My dear,” he said to her, “I should never feel 
easy in mind again if I failed to go. I have more 
stamina than you think. Come, now, little wife, 
we have a day and a half ; make the best of it, for 
I must go.” 

She could not turn him from the purpose, and that 
night they were within ten miles of Perry. The 
next morning they made the remaining distance, 
arriving too late, however, for Mrs. Trippe to 
enter court with Cecy. 

Meanwhile Doctor Pierce had come up as usual 
on the morning train, and found his patient gone. 


' THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


227 


He determined to follow him, more than half ex- 
pecting to find Trippe at some farm-house on the 
road. 

Every horse was in use on this important day; 
but Pierce walked up the hill to Carrol’s house, 
where he managed to get a saddle mule, and thus 
mounted,. galloped the entire distance, and hurried 
to the court-house. 

The crowded room was hushed when Doctor 
Trippe was called upon the stand, and all present 
saw that his evidence, whatever it was, would carry 
the day. 

Owing to his weakness he was permitted to sit ; 
and in a feeble voice, with frequent pauses for 
breath, Trippe began the story of Morgan’s suicide ; 
but his words carried conviction with them, and ere 
he closed his voice was drowned by a hearty burst 
of applause. 

Threatening to clear the room entirely unless 
there was order in court, the sheriff again obtained 
silence, and Trippe began to repeat his concluding 
words. 

Even then, had the case been submitted, the jury 
would have given a verdict in Miss Morgan’s favor. 

“If there is a doubt in any mind,” Trippe con- 
cluded, “I beg leave to submit my statement to any 
expert surgeon ; and I believe that I can show the 
truth of all my statements and conclusions.” 

Turning to the prosecution, Crawford submitted 
the witness; but one or two important questions 
only were asked in the cross-examination. 

Trippe sank back upon the pillow, thoroughly 
exhausted, and Crawford stepped forward to make 
him comfortable upon the chairs. Stannard slipped 
a card in his hand. 

“Abner Hawks!” called the sheriff. “Is Abner 
Hawks in court?” 

The old man came forward, and as he stepped 
into the box, Crawford glanced at the card. 

“Peyton!” Stannard had written. “Do not call 
up Guerry if you can do without him.” 

“I should like to have him there if I was on the 
other side,” thought Crawford, looking over to the 


228 


THE ILLEGAL MABBIAOE, 


expressionless face of the young man, crouching in 
a corner. 

“What is your name?” asked Martin at that mo- 
ment, beginning to question the witness. 

“Abner Hawks.” 

“ Where do you live !” 

“ At Echaconnee.” 

“Did you know Daniel Morgan?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Were you at the house on the night of his death 
— or the evening before his death?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Will you tell the court what you saw there?” 
“Tell it in your own words,” his honor remarked; 
“give the story in your own way.” 

Stripped of barbarism and peculiar Georgia Eng- 
lish, old Hawks gave the following statement: 
“About an hour after dark I went up to Morgan’s 
house to have a few words with a young man who 
was courting Morgan’s daughter — that young lady 
there. 

“ He came up to the fence, and I stepped into the 
bushes a few paces off, to wait until he got through 
with the girl. She came up to the fence on the 
other side — right smartly frightened, and begged 
him to go off. 

“He didn’t want to go, and kept her there until I 
saw Morgan creeping out of the house. He came 
up to the bushes where they were, looked at them 
for a minute, then went into the house. 

“ Pretty soon he came out with his gun. I coughed 
and clucked to them, and she ran to the house just 
in time to stop old Morgan in the path. 

“They were pulling at each other for a moment, 
and then Morgan knocked her down. I saw he 
was out of his head entirely. I was just going to 
help the girl when Morgan fired into the bushes, 
where I was, and hit me in the side.” 

For the first time Cecy turned her head, and 
looked full into the face of the old man. This, then, 
was the explanation of the cry that she had heard. 

“I thought he had killed me,” continued Hawks, 
“and went down the road. Seeing the young man 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


229 


riding away, I thought it too had to leave that girl 
alone with a maniac ; and as soon as I could stop 
the blood a little, went back to the house. 

“Just as I got back I looked through the window, 
and saw Morgan draw his daughter into his room 
and bolt the door. Pretty soon he drew a long knife 
from under his pillow. 

“She — Miss Morgan — screamed for help, and I 
thought it about time to interfere. I smashed in 
the window. Miss Morgan had fainted on the floor. 

I never saw a man’s eyes like Morgan’s. They 
were like two balls of fire. 

“ When he heard the window smash, and saw me 
there, he appeared to get madder like, and began to 
stick himself in the breast. He broke for me, stick- 
ing himself at every step, screaming like mad, and 
fell over a chair. 

“ I got behind the vines. Morgan got up again in 
a minute, and, fearing he would do Cecy more harm, 

I went to the window again. 

“ Morgan looked down on her once, then began to 
yell again like mad, sticking himself at every yell. 

“Just then I saw the people break in at the door, 
and ran into the garden. Feeling faintly sick, I 
laid down in the garden, and didn’t get up until I 
heard somebody coming into the yard. 

“ It was Colonel Stannard. Taking one more peep 
through the vines I saw Miss Morgan on the sofa, 
and the doctor, with two or three more, round the 
bed. She saw me then. The neighbors began to 
come, and I went home. That’s all I know about it.” 

Bowing to his opponent, Martin gave the witness 
up, and a sharp cross-examination failed to shake 
him in any particular. It was evident that the de- 
fense had made out their case, and there was no 
desire to prolong the suspense that, it seemed to all, ' 
must be very trying to Miss Morgan. 

“One or two more questions,” said the State 
Attorney in conclusion : 

“ Hawks, have you seen Doctor Trippe since that 
morning?” 

“Hot till I seen him here.” 

“Have you not spoken with him at all?” 


230 


THE ILLEGAL MARIIIAOE. 


‘‘Haven’t heard the sound of his voice till jist 
now.” 

Trippe looked up curiously, and believed that old 
Abner was swearing to a lie. 

“Have you spoken to any one about this matter?” 
“No — I’ve been on my back pretty much all the 
time — T hain’t mentioned it, nor nobody ain’t men- 
tioned it to me. I ain’t seen anybody to talk to.” 
‘Who was the young man you went to meet?” 

“ Guerry — Alfred Guerry. ” 

“Was he not forbidden Morgan’s house?” 

“I heard so.” 

“What did he come for that night?” 

“Came to see the girl, I suppose.” 

“ What were you there for?” 

“I went to speak to Guerry ’bout business?” 
“What was that business?” 

“Private business.” 

“But what was that business?” 

“I object to that question,” said Crawford. 

“Well, how did you know he was there?” 

“I didn’t know till I seen him there.” 

“Then how could you have had business with 
him ?” 

“I was gwine to meet him up the road.” 

“ What had you to do with him, that you should 
meet him in the road?” 

“I object to the question,” said Crawford, again; 
and the objection being sustained, the witness was 
discharged. 

Until these last questions were asked, there had 
not been a doubt in the minds of the spectators as 
to the result ; but those who are unskilled in law 
are apt to argue ill from a refusal to answer any 
questions, and again a buzz of whispers was heard 
throughout the room. 

It took not long for the counsel to present their 
cases to the court, and in a few moments the iurv 
retired. 

Anxious to say a word of encouragement to Cecy, 
Doctor Trippe rose from his seat; but the fatigue 
and excitement had been too much for him, and he 
fainted in Stannard’s arms. 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


231 


At that moment. Ham Pierce pushed his way 
through the crowd, and assisted his friends in bear- 
ing Trippe from the ro^m. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE STORY OF MARY HAWKS. 

Scarcely had the bustle caused by Doctor Trippe’s 
removal began to subside, when the jury returned 
to their seats. Xot five minutes had they been in 
consultation, and the foreman now arose to an- 
nounce a unanimous verdict of acquittal. 

Cecy instantly lowered her vail, and her friends 
pressed around her to offer their congratulations. 

Leaning upon Stannard’s arm, she passed down 
the aisle, and when near the bar she saw Alfred 
sitting in the corner. 

He cast down his eyes, and turned aside his face. 
Cecy wondered at her calmness as she looked at 
him. Searching her own heart, then and after- 
ward, she could find no feeling there but that of 
pity — sincere pity; and still more she wondered 
how it was that she had ever yielded to her fancy 
for him. 

“Drive me back to my little room, please,” she 
said to Stannard, as they entered the carriage, “ I 
do not want to go to the hotel.” 

Stannard understood her reluctance to expose 
herself to the gaze of the crowd, which had now 
gather'ed about the hotel in expectation of her 
coming, and ordered the coachman to drive back 
to the jail. 

At that moment, Mrs. Bond’s splendid carriage 
swept round the corner, and Stannard waved his 
hand to attract her notice. She drove after them to 
the jail. 

With tears in her eyes, Cecy followed her friend 
into the little room, and once more looked around 
upon all her treasures. Mrs. Bond embraced her 
cordially. 

“You will think it strange,” said Cecy, presently; 


2S2 


fSE ILLEGAL MAERIAOZ 


“perhaps you cannot understand it; but I must say 
that I have been very happy here.” 

“Perhaps I can understand it, Cecy; well — you 
belong to me now, at least for a time, and I shall 
carry you off to-night.” 

Stannard came to the door. 

“I came for orders, Cecy. What is your pro- 
gramme ?” 

“Turn Cecy over to me, Colonel Stannard,” said 
Mrs. Bond, “I will take charge of her now. She 
will go to my house for the present.” 

“ Thanks ! That is the best. I am glad you came.” 
“I have been a great charge to you, have I not?” 
asked Cecy, smiling. 

“Yes, indeed, Cecy, I don’t think that I ever 
worried about any one so much.” 

’’All’s well that ends well,” said Mrs. Bond. 
“Come at four o’clock, colonel, and you may see 
us off. Perhaps I may let you ride with us.” 

“I wish you would,” said Cecy, qiiickh^, but in a 
moment her face was reddened with blushes. 
“Thank you, Cecy; but now you are in safe 

hands, I will look out for poor Trippe ” 

“ How selfish I am — I had forgotten him. Do see 
that he is well taken care of.” 

“My horses are here, and I shall have the carriage 
specially fitted up for him. Crawford will not go 
home with me now, but is coming up soon ; and I 
have nothing else to do than to see Trippe safe 
home.” 

“Have you— do you remember,” Cecy began, but 
stammering over the words; “will you see to what 
I asked you?” 

“Certainly I will, Cecy, I’ll go about it at once. 
Good-by for the present.” 

As the door closed behind him Mrs. Bond looked 
at her friend, and, gazing steadily into Cecy’s eyes, 
the tell-tale blushes suffused her cheek. For a 
second or two they stood thus, and then were 
locked in a warm embrace, each knowing the 
other’s thoughts and feelings. The silence between 
them was more eloouent than words. 

Stannard went directly to Trippe ’s room, and 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAGE. 


233 


found him bright and cheerful, sitting up in an 
easy-chair. 

“Come, Stannard, you are just in time,” Trippe 
said, gayly ; “ Ham is trying to persuade me that I 
am still sick.” 

“Weak then,” said Pierce, laughing, “if you like 
that word better.” 

“Weak! Come now, Ham, I’ll wrestle with you 
for your bill — what say? Double or off?” 

“Don’t talk to me about a bill.” 

“Your car fare, then, and extras.” 

“Why, man, I’ve been doubly paid already, Stan- 
nard there has furnished me with unlimited funds.” 
A look of love came into Trippe ’s eyes as he 
gazed upon Stannard’s face, and made a mental 
addition to his debt of gratitude. 

“It was the heat of that crowded room,” said 
Trippe, in a subdued voice; “give me plenty of 
fresh air and I shall be strong enough.” 

He had turned the subjcet, not daring to express 
his feelings of gratitude to Stannard. 

“I’ve got twice the stamina you have. Ham,” 
Trippe concluded, “even after this long pull.” 

A rap at the door made them turn, and a waiter 
entered. 

“Massa Trippe, old ge-ge-gemman he-ya, wa-wa- 
want see Mas-mas’s Trippe. Haw-Haw — Hawk he 
say he’s na-name is. See — suthin oder like dat ar.” 
The stuttering of the negro raised a hearty laugh, 
and put the party in the best of spirits. 

“Tell him to come up,” said Trippe, laughing 
loudly. 

“He’s — he’s — he’s do — done he yah,” the bov re- 
plied, grinning all over his face, and throwing open 
the door. 

Half bent and very much broken, old Hawks 
entered the room, and, trembling dreadfully, bowed 
to the men present. 

“ Great Heaven ! what a wreck !” exclaimed Trippe 
in surprise. 

Martin also came to the door to find Stannard. 
“Guerry is in my room with Crawford — will you 
come in, colonel?” 


234 


THE ILLEGAL MAUBIAOE, 


“Wait a little, ’’.said Trippe, “Stannard, I wish you 
would stay a half-hour or so — tell them to wait for 
you.” 

Stannard took a chair by the window as they left 
the room, and Trippe called the old man forward. 
He was, indeed, terribly broken and subdued. 

“Hawks!” Trippe began, “you remember what I 
told you the other day — what do you want to say?” 
Stannard looked up in surprise as he heard this, 
remembering what the old man had said in court, 
and the look did not escape the keen eyes of Trippe. 

“You are surprised, Stannard, but I will tell you 
the story presently.” 

“I know it already. Hawks told me when he 
brought me the papers that I most desired of all 
things in the world. You, Trippe, will know what 
I mean.” 

“Hawks, that shows a change in you, is it so?” 
“Tell me where she is, doctor; for Heaven’s sake 
tell me, and I’ll do anything you want me.” 

“Good! we’ll see about that. Stannard, are you — 
is — is,” Trippe hesitated and glanced at Hawks. 

“I know what you would ask. Yes, thanks to 
him I have learned the truth at last. Read that.” 
Taking the last two of the series of papers from 
his pocket, Stannard handed them to Trippe. giving 
him a brief sketch of old Hawks’ search in France. 

“Monstrous! horrible!” exclaimed Trippe, as he 
read Adela’s confession of the mock marriage, and 
how she was forced into it. “ Out of romance I don’t 
think that I ever heard anything like that. Stan- 
nard, I hope this was the brute that you shot.” 

“ It was the same. He had taken the money from 
that poor woman, and when he died his confederate 
ran off with it, leaving her to starve. Had I known 
it, she should not have wanted ; but the poor girl 
kept her compact with me when left to herself. 
Some time you shall read the whole.” 

“ Hawks, once more I ask you what are you going 

to do about what I told you at ” 

“Doctor, it weren’t me — ’twas young Guerry. I 
sent him.” 

_ “It was Guerry !” exclaimed Trippe, “what had he 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAQE. ’ 


235 


to do with it? Stannard, it was the man you saw 
that evening — that you and Crawford followed.” 

“ I knew it was some one, despite your chaff about 

“I sent him,” pursued Hawks, “because he told 
me you war dying. I believed you war the cause of 
her death. Tell me, doctor,” he continued, chang- 
ing to a whining tone of entreaty, “tell me where 
she is.” 

“Stannard!” said Trippe, turning abruptly to his 
friend, and not heeding the old man’s question, 
“you remember little Mary Hawks?” 

“Very well — that is when a little girl.” 

“ She was only sixteen when she went away from 
home. I was then with my brother in Macon, and 
was one day walking along the streets when I saw 
Mary sitting upon some steps, and cr^dng as if her 
heart was broken. She had a small bundle by her 
side, and I saw at once that she was in distress. 

“Early in that year she had been at school in the 
city, and I attended her when she was sick. She 
was known there as Mary Garland.” 

“It was her mother’s name,” said the old man, 
with a sob. 

“Girls are not generous to each other,” continued 
Trippe, without heeding the interruption, “and fear- 
ing that the others would ridicule her. Hawks had 
the good sense to give her the name that her mother 
had borne. In a month she was the pet of the 
college, and I ” 

Another sob from the old man, turned their atten- 
tion to him, and they saw that he was crying 
bitterlv. 

“Anfl I wms very fond of her. She went home 
during the vacation, and the next time that I spoke 
to her she was sitting upon the street as I have told 

spoke to her gently, and soon gained her story. 
When at the school a young man had professed 
love for her; and Mary did not deny her love for 
him. He followed her home, and, although she 
would not permit him to come to the house, she met 
him several times, in a grove, about a mile away* ^ 


236 


THE ILLEGAL MARHIAOE, 


“Her father — you, Hawks, suspected these meet- 
ings, and began to persecute her about them. More 
than once he struck her, Stannard ; and at best he 
made a perfect hell of her home. 

“ One day he determined to watch her, and just as 
he came upon them, I happened to ride by. The 
young man escaped unseen ; but Hawks — I tell the 
story as if you were not here — but her father saw 
me, it seems, and accused Mary of coming to meet 
me. 

“ It made me shudder to hear her tell the story of 
his wrath. He continued to beat her until she was 
bruised from head to foot, and called her the vilest 
names until he, himself, was wearied. 

“ The next day, Mary told all to her lover, and he 
induced her to go away with him. That night she 
met him, and together they drove to the city; but 
once in his power, this young devil laughed at the 
idea of marrying her, and made infamous proposals. 

“Making him repeat his words, and asking him to 
say again if he really meant it, Mary learned the 
truth, and immediately fled from him.” 

“ Who was he? Tell me who the villain was?” 
screamed old Hawks, springing to his feet with 
clenched hands. 

“Take care. Hawks,” Trippe said, calmly. “Ho 
more violence, remember. Unless you promise me 
now to curb your temper, I shall tell you no more.” 

The old man sank back into his chair, and eagerly 
gave the required promise. 

“ All that night Maiw wandered about the streets, 
and it was in the morning that I found her. She 
had left a note at home, telling her father that she 
was going abroad, purposely blotting out the name 
of her lover. 

“With her tears flowing freely, Mary told me this 
story, and begged me not to tell her father where 
she was. She feared that he would kill her, even; 
and I think that he would have done it then. 

“Taking Mary to my brother John’s house, a new 
name was given her, and in a week John sent her 
to Milledgeville to be a companion and friend for 
our aged mother. 


THE ILLEGAL MAmiAQE 


237 


“There she remained until about a year ago, when 
she married a minister — a man of some property, 
and well thought of in the town where he lives. It 
is many miles from Milledgeville, Hawks, and you 
will never find her unless you promise not to annoy 
her. 

“She thinks you are dead. Hawks! Would you 
go now and break up her happy home?” 

“No! no!” sobbed the old man; “just let me see 
her; only let me see her once more to beg her 
pardon for the past, and I’ll never see her again.” 
“He’ll not have long to see her at best,” Trippe 
whispered; “he will not live a month.” 

“Who was it, doctor — who was it that attempted 
to ruin her? Tell me now, and I’ll swear to forgive 
him.” 

“I’ll try you. Hawks; it was Alfred Guerry.” 
“Him!” almost screamed the old man, rising, 
“that rascal — he hired me to murder old Morga — 
the villain ” 

Instantly recalling his promise and fearing that 
Trippe would not tell him where Mary lived, Hawks 
sank back into his chair, muttering: 

“ But I forgive him ! 1 forgive him !” 

Trippe and Stannard were gazing at the old man 
in consternation. The doctor knew that Hawks had 
not committed the murder, but was it true that he 
had gone for that purpose?” 

“ Hawks ! we will be friends to you if you will act 
right — now tell us the secret of this affair. Why 
did Guerry hire you to kill Morgan?” Trippe asked. 

“I wouldn’t a done it, doctor — I didn’t mean to do 
it. I seed that Morgan hadn’t long to live, and I 
wanted to make that — that young fellar think that 
I did it. He give me this paper.” 

Unfolding his wallet. Hawks laid the compact 
before them ; and they read it in silence, merely 
looking into each other’s eyes. 

“I wanted money — I wanted to be revenged for 
Mary. I followed you the fust time, and heard the 
colonel thar tell you he’d give Guerry his Crawford 
place. I told him I’d make the colonel give him a 
fortin’. He was to give me two thousand for gitting 


238 • 


THE ILLEGAL MARBIAGE. 


Morgan out of the way, two for getting him t’other 
fortin’, and one for the papers I give the colonel 
thar. 

“In course I shouldn’t a done it, but he’d think I 
did. He was to give me the money when he married 
Morgan’s daughter. Oh! if I’d a-known — if I’d a- 
known ’twas him ” 

“But, Hawks, how did you get this hold upon 
him ?” 

“That forged paper on the Widder Carter. He 
never knew it was paid, and didn’t want me to ruin 
him.” 

“ Heavens ! Hawks ! what a villain you have 
been !” 

“ I wouldn’t a-done it if I’d known Mary was a 
living.” 

“Trippe,” said Stannard, “ Alfred has been more 
sinned against than sinning. He is simply too 
weak to resist the fear of exposure — perhaps I have 
been as bad.” 

“ Stannard, I admit a part of it, but he has a hard 
heart. I knew it when he tried to deceive Mary 
Hawks. Perhaps this lesson will do him good, but 
I have my doubt. Bring up a boy as he was brought 
up at home — taught to believe that every innocent 
pleasure is a sin, and he’s about sure to run riot 
when he gets away from the restraints of home.” 

“We must save him, Trippe — we must sendJiim 
away for a few years, until this is forgotten.” 

“ Doctor, do tell me where she is. I’ll git on my 
knees to ye if ye want.” 

“Wait, Hawks, go to my house and stay until I 
get well, then I will take you to her myself.” 

Like a dog the old man fell at Doctor Trippe’s 
feet, and began to kiss his hands, as he begged to 
be forgiven for the past. 

“And you must forgive him first. Hawks.” 

The old man started back for an instant, and the 
former fire seemed to come into his eyes; but he 
bowed his head again, and renewed his promise 
while groveling at the doctor’s feet. 

“Stannard, will you step out for Alf Guerry — 
bring him in here for a few moments.” 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE. 


239 


Pale and dejected, but bowing his head with 
shame, Alfred followed Stannard into Trippe’s 
room ; but he started back with fear as he saw old 
Hawks there. The old man looked at him sullenly, 
but dared not speak. 

“Guerry,” sa-id Trippe, “what is said here will be 
a secret between us. We know the history of the 
past better than you do yourself.” 

Alfred’s eyes had fallen upon the paper which he 
had given Hawks, and Trippe saw him gazing at 
it in terror, while his frame began to tremble 
sadly. Leisurely striking a match, Trippe lighted 
the paper, and they saw it burn to ashes in his 
hand. 

“Give me the other. Hawks. Give me all you 
have of this kind. Guerry, you know it is worth- 
less, but you shall see the only record of your weak- 
ness destroyed before your own eyes.” 

“ Alf, I cannot talk to you as I wish I could,” said 
Stannard, “but you have done wrong — excuse me 
for speaking of it, Alf,” Stannard apologized, his 
tender, womanly nature making it impossible for 
him to hurt this young man’s feelings even then ; 
“ I do it only to say that we know all — and under- 
stand how you were tempted.” 

“He forced me into it,” said Alfred, pointing to 
Hawks. 

“And what did you do — you thief?” cried the old 
man, stepping menacingly toward him, “you drove 
my ” 

“Hawks,” said Trippe, sternly, throwing up his 
finger. 

The gesture drove Hawks back to his chair, and a 
look of fear came over his face. 

Stannard was pained to hear Alfred attempt to 
throw the responsibility upon the old man in this 
manner, and for the moment turned to the window. 

“I did hope,” he said to himself, “that he was less 
cowardly. I never saw a young fellow so weak.” 

“Never mind, Alfred,” he said, aloud, “let it pass. 
No matter whose fault it was, you have done wrong. 
I refused to enter a charge against you, and Trippe 
would not prosecute Hawks. So far very few know 


240 


TEE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE, 


this thing, and I hope it may still be kept from the 
people; but, Alf, don’t you think it best for you to 
go away for a }^ear or two?” 

“I have no money,” he said, scarcely above a 
whisper. 

“Here is the money that Hawks gave me last 
night. Take it, Alf— go abroad for a time ; and if 
you need more let me hear from you.” 

Alfred took the money in silence, but still felt 
that he hated the hand even in giving. But he 
muttered his thanks faintly. 

“You should find this a lesson, I should think,” 
said Trippe, sternly ; “ but for your father and sisters, 
I should have exposed you long ago. Perhaps it 
would have been better had I done it.” 

“Don’t, Trippe, don’t say anything more,” inter- 
rupted Stannard, “let it pass now, I am sure that 
Alfred can see his duty as well as if we gave him a 
sermon on it.” 

Guerry cast a furtive glance upon Stannard’s 
face — looking very handsome at that moment, and, 
despite the kindness, the generosity, the forbear- 
ance that was shown him, felt the feeling of hatred 
rankling in his heart. 

Conscientiously he felt then that these men had 
wronged him; and such was the effect of the 
narrow moral code under which he had been reared. 

Conscientious, too, Alfred Guerry felt that he had 
cause for hating the men who had thwarted him in 
his plans. 

“I should have been a good man; I would have 
given to the church ; I could have been generous to 
the poor; 1 should have been a Christian, had they 
not interfered with me, and driven me out into the 
world.” 

“Go now, Alfred,” said Stannard, extending his 
hand ; “ 1 would go as soon as I saw my people, if I 
were you. Tell them you were brought here as a 
witness, and they shall never hear the truth — 
Heaven bless you.” 

He took Trippe’s hand also, and without asking 
pardon for the wrongs of which he had been guilty, 
turned toward the door. 


TEE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


241 


His eye lighted on old Hawks in passing, and in 
an instant he burst out with a fit of cursing. 

“It was you — you old villain, who drove me to 
this,” he cried, in a passion, “I shall curse you till 
the day of my death.” 

“Curse away, boy,” replied Hawks, keeping one 
eye on Doctor Trippe, “curses rarely harm a body. 
They can’t phase a feather. But I forgive ye ! I 
forgive ye I” he said, looking still at Trippe. 

“ You "forgive me! what in — have you to forgive — 
you old ” 

“Guerry,” said Trippe, sharply, he has enough to 
forgive — Mary Garland was Mary Hawks!” 

With a cry of surprise, Alfred sprang forward, 
his face growing still paler, if that were' possible ; 
but in a moment he hung his head and hurried from 
the room. 


212 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE, 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

CONCLUSION. 

For a moment after Alfred Guerry had burst 
from the room, Stannard and Trippe had looked at 
each other in silence. Stannard felt a profound pity 
for the young man ; Trippe thought that he ought 
to be punished severely. 

“ I hope this will do him good — from the bottom of 
my heart I do,” said Stannard, presently. “I should 
hate to see him come to grief again.” 

“For my part, Stannard,” Trippe replied, “I have 
very little hope of him. What can you expect from 
boys nursed as he has been! They call me an 
infidel for saying it, but I shall continue to say, 
that to hold a child to account for every little sin, 
or peccadillo, as strictly as you would one with a 
mature intellect, is the surest way to ruin the best 
nature in the world.” 

“Perhaps so; Guerry was always too strict with 
his children.” 

“That’s all the sympathy I have for that young 
fellow — I know that he had no youth.” 

Trippe looked up with a laugh as he saw Stannard 
yawning. 

“ ’Pon my word you are a nice one to preach to — 
can’t bear a sermon five minutes long. You ought 
to be made to sit through Hallingshed’s two hours 
and a quarter — on a hot day.” 

“To tell the truth, Trippe, my mind was wander- 
ing — halloo!” he cried, looking at his watch, “it’s 
half-past four.” 

“Well, suppose it is.” 

“ They told me to meet them at four — Mrs. Bond 
and Cecy. They are going to start for Macon.” 

“This evening?” 

“They say so. They can do it with those horses 
by eleven o’clock, 


THE ILLEGAL M ARBI AGE, 


243 


“I doubt it. Well, I’ll see my old friend here 
cared for, and we’ll start for home in the morning.” 

“But will you be able to go so soon?” 

“Oh, yes; no doubt of that — I feel — a pair of arms 
round my neck,” Trippe concluded, laughingly, as 
he took the hands of his wife in his own. 

She had stolen in while he was talking, and came 
to the back of his chair. 

“They have sent for you, colonel, the carriage 
has come for you.” 

“Have they?” said Stannard, catching up his hat; 
and in a moment he was down the stairs. 

“Just see, Cecy,” said Mrs. Bond, as Stannard 
was shown into the room; “just see what it is to 
depend on a man. Why are you so late, sir?” 

“The time slipped away before I knew it. Indeed 
I am sorry that I have detained you.” 

“We are going to stop on the way,” said Cecy, 
quickly, “so it will make no difference.” 

“Yes, we cannot go on to-night — besides, Cecy 
wishes to go home in the morning for some things, 
and for her maid. I wonder you did not bring her, 
Cecy!” 

“I did not want to subject her to life in a jail — I 
had no idea what it was. I thought they kept 
people in dark cells.” 

“All prisoners do not fare in this way, I can 
assure you of that,” said Mrs. Bond. 

“ I know it. I am indebted to Colonel Stannard 
for all this.” 

He felt his face burning as he heard her praise, 
and, wishing to change the subject, asked where 
they intended to spend the night. 

“ I have not the remotest idea,” said Mrs. Bond, 
“where we shall stay?” 

“You had better go on to my house, it is entirely 
empty now. Aunt Emmy will take care of you.” 

Mrs. Bond approved of the plan, but Cecy did not 
speak. She found herself lost in gazing on his 
face, and when her eyes met his, her own face 
crimsoned with confusion. The look made his heart 
beat hot and fast, and had they been alone, he 


244 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE. 


would have thrown himself at her feet and told her 
the story of his life and love. 

“Come, Cecy,” said Mrs. Bond, to break the awk- 
ward pause, “ come, take a last look and let us go. 
What will you do about your things?” 

She looked up into Stannard’s face. 

“They are not mine,” she said, and rushing to a 
vase near, she took out a faded bouquet. “ 1 shall 
not leave this — the rest were loaned me, I suppose.” 

“Indeed they were not, Cecy,” said Stannard, 
quickly, “I bought them for you. They are yours.” 

“Can I do what I please with them?” she asked. 

“Certainly you can. Will you give ” 

“Then I shall give them to Mrs. Harris,” she 
interrupted. 

“ It was what I was about going to suggest,” Stan- 
nard said, smiling at the eagerness with which she 
rushed to the door, and called in the jailer’s wife. 

Kissing the little woman warmly, Cecy gave her 
the things. 

“She has been so good to me. Colonel Stannard, 
you can’t think how good she was in those days. 
Oh! I can never reward you,” she said, again kiss- 
ing her passionately. 

“I have been already rewarded,” said Mrs. Harris, 
glancing at Stannard. “I cannot take ” 

Cecy was looking at him intently, and he quickly' 
interrupted the speech which he saw was coming. 

“ It will give Miss Morgan great pleasure to know 
that you have her things, and I am sure it is much 
less than you deserve.” 

“Certainly it is a great deal less,” said Cecy, 
warmly. “ What should I have done had you not 
been kind to me?” 

“Anybody would be kind to ^mu. Miss Morgan.” 

It was Cecy’s turn to blush now, and she felt that 
her face was scarlet as she saw the look of fondness 
which he gave her. 

Not one word of love had been spoken between 
them ; but it needs not words to tell a tale of love. 

“I never had such nice furniture before,” said 
Mrs. Harris, her eyes gleaming with pleasure, as 
she looked about the handsomely furnished room. 


' THE ILLEGAL MAHIHAGE, 246 

I am a thousand times obliged to you. May I kiss 
you for it?” 

Again Cecy threw her arms about the happy 
woman’s neck, and pressed a heartfelt kiss upon 
her lips. 

“Dear Mrs. Harris, be good to my birds — they 
have been daily companions forme. Birdies!” she 
called to them. “ Birdies 1 come for your last pet- 
ting. Good-by, my pets! good-by, good-by,” she 
almost sobbed, as, with one glance around, she ran 
from the room. 

Her friends followed her out ; but instantly turn- 
ing, Cecy went to her bureau, and took a withered 
althea twig from the drawer. Secreting it in her 
bosom, she rejoined her friends, and soon made her 
last adieu to the place in which — twist and turn as 
she would in her mind — she had to confess she had 
been very happy. 

It was late that night when they drove up to the 
gate of Stannard’s house in Echaconnee. For the 
first time since Louise Stannard left there, she went 
up that well-known walk, and stood upon the mag- 
nolia-shaded porch, upon which she had so often 
sat in those earlier happier days. But were they 
happier? 

Again and again that night Cecy told herself that 
she had never been so happy in all her life before. 
Until late in the night Cecy lay awake thinking of 
the past, and wondering at herself. 

“What must he think of me?” she mused, while 
thinking of Stannard. “What must he think of one 
who can change as I have done?” 

“Will he believe in such love? Will he believe 
that I have always loved him? That I did love him 
even when trying to deceive myself? I wonder if 
any other poor girl was like me?” 

Fcr a long time she pondered over this, to her, 
momentous question. 

“If my mother had lived — if I could have had a 
mother’s care, I should not have been so foolish. 

If my father, even, had been kind and confiding 
with me, I should have been spared that sorrow ; 
but I had no one— no one to tell me anything. 


246 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAOK 


What must he think of one who changes so ! Oh I 
I wish that I had died !” 

Thoroughly broken down by the grief those 
thoughts brought her, Cecy sobbed aloud, and 
turned her face ui the pillow. 

Mrs. Bond was aroused, and, thinking that she 
was sobbing in her sleep, spoke to her; but finding 
that she was still awake, the sympathizing dady 
took Cecy’s head upon her bosorp, and tried to pet 
away all remembrance of the unhappy thoughts. ^ 

The air was cool and pleasant on the following 
morning when Cecy and her friend drove up to the 
castle, and they had a fair prospect for the trip to 
Macon. Dark and gloomy enough the old house 
looked, entirely closed, as it had been for the past 
month, and Cecy shuddered as she went up the 
walk, and recalled that dreadful morning. 

A few hours only were spent at home, during 
which Cecy had put the old place in order, and 
visited again each cottage in that little village. 
Once more the negroes crowded around her, kissing 
her hands, her shawl, her dress ; and amid tears of 
joy and cries of congratulation, she broke away 
from them, and ran to the carriage. 

The crowd followed her to the gate, and the cries 
of “Good-by, Cecy!” “Good luck, mistress!” and 
other tones of endearment, made a hubbub that 
was ringing in their ears as the carriage rolled 
away. 

Waving her handkerchief from the window Cecy 
saw a shower of old shoes fiying after her, and the 
half-grown children were beside the carriage shout- 
ing to her, until the driver whipped up sharply to 
get away from them. 

Meantime, Stannard was slowly driving from 
Perry, with Doctor Trippe. The doctor and his 
wife, with Ham Pierce, drove in the coach, while 
Stannard rode a saddle-horse beside them. Old 
Hawks was on the driver’s box. 

Seeing the doctor safely home, Stannard rode on 
to his own house, and in an hour or two his carriage 
returned with Doctor Pierce. 

You’ll stay with me to-night, Ham, of course?” ^ 


'THE ILLEGAL 3IARRIA0R 


247 


course not, my dear fellow. Wait until you 
get a wife, and then see if you yield to bachelor 
temptations. I’ve been a long time away. Is that 
not the train?” 

“ Time enough yet. Eat something before you go. 
Don’t wait for me. I’ll be back presently.” 

Going into his library, Stannard wrote a check, 
and returned to the supper-room. The roaring of 
the train was clearer now, and swallowing his tea 
hastily, Pierce started for the door. 

“Here, Ham, here’s your fee,” Stannard said, 
thrusting the check into the doctor’s hand. But he 
handed it back instantly, after glancing at the 
amount. 

“I cannot take it, Stannard. Trippe is a brother 
physician, and I could not think of taking pay for 
attending him.” 

“But for Miss Morgan.” 

“Not that amount, certainly. You have already 
paid me enough, Stannard.” 

“But, Ham, look here.” They were now near the 
station, and saw the engine-light gleaming at the 
turn. “ See here — your time ; you have been away 
from practice.” 

The train came rushing up, and was near the 
depot. 

“ Make it one-fifth that amount, and come down 
to see me — no, I won’t take it, Stannard ! Good-by.” 

Jumping on the car. Pierce was soon whirling 
away, and Stannard stood gazing after him. 

“He’s a true gentleman, if there is one in this 
world,” Stannard thought. “I know that he is poor, 
and yet he will not take more than the fee of an 
ordinary doctor.” 

Slowly walking homeward, Stannard tried hard to 
think how he could repay his generous friend. 

“I have it!” he said aloud, slapping his pocket 
heartily. “I’ll buy that house for him.” 

4s * * * 

If the quiet Echaconnee settlement was aroused, 
and the rhinds of the people excited by the news of 
old Morgan’s murder, the result of the trial in Perry 


248 


THE ILLEGAL MAEEIAGE, 


produced a corresponding calm ; and in a fortnight 
no one would have supposed that an event of so 
great moment had occurred. 

The newspapers came out with long items — much 
to Cecy’s disgust — praising the conduct of Miss 
Morgan ; and, so far as Stannard could see, there 
was not one which did not claim to have predicted 
Miss Morgan’s acquittal from the first. 

A week after his return, Stannard received the 
Fort Valley paper, and opened it to see what tlie 
editor had to say. Presently he roared with laughter 
when by himself, bringing Aunt Emmy, with Stan- 
nard’s body-servant Tom at her heels, to see what 
was th<^. matter. 

“’Poll my word, that is too good,” he said to him- 
self, and again laughing loudly; “I must read that 
over.” 

“ Our readers will remember that we stated at first 
that Miss Morgan claimed that her father had com- 
mitted suicide, although the coroner’s jury did not 
concur in that opinion. We had no idea that they 
considered Miss Morgan guilty, hut that they hoped 
to bring to light some facts about a young man who 
was persecuting her with attentions, that greatly 
annoyed both Miss Morgan and her father. We 
learn that he has since left the country. 

“Our readers will be pleased to hear that Miss 
Morgan, who is a young lady of great beauty, and 
high attainments, left the court-room without a 
stain upon her name, and that she had the full 
sympathy of all.” 

“That, that, that,” said Stannard, raving again, 
“did anybody ever before see a paragraph like that? 
That fellow has impudence enough to exhaust every 
‘that’ in the language.” 

But this was the last of the affair. The common 
ways of the country people were renewed; farmers 
gathered their crops, or met to talk of the elections, 
and the name of “old Dan Morgan” was forgotten 
or never mentioned by those who were the most 
excited over his death. 

Winter came and passed, and a new spring was 


THE ILLEGAL MAHIHAGE. 


249 


opening when William Stannard went to Macon, to 
lead Cecy Morgan to the altar. 

During the winter his visits to the city had been 
frequent, and he often spent weeks there in order 
to see and be near the woman he so fondly loved. 
Stannard had told her the story of his youth, and 
Cecy loved him all the more as she thought how 
much he had suffered, and how nobly he had treated 
her. 

“I am not worthy such love as yours,” she said, 
when he had told her why he had treated her coolly. 
“Indeed, I am not worthy of it. I feel like a guilty 
thing when I think of my past.” 

“Hush, Cecy; don’t say that,” he said, fondly; 
“I cannot bear to hear you talk so.” 

“But I do feel so. Oh! William, if I had only 
had my mother ; if I had had any woman to guide 
me, it would have been so different with me. I 
thought you loved another — I was out of my head ; 
but I did lo\m you even then. You will think me 
deceitful, it may be, but it is true. I tried to deceive 
myself.”' 

‘Ht is past, Cecy ; don’t talk of it now. Tell me, 
my darling, tell me the day. Don’t make it long, 
Cecy. ” 

As lovers do, they wrangled over the day of the 
wedding; and though Cecy argued strongly for 
time, he insisted on the first of May. 

Cecy was to be married from Mrs. Bond’s house ; 
and in small cities like Macon, a wedding among 
people of their condition in life creates no little 
flutter among the beau sex. For days, and weeks, 
even. Miss Morgan’s wedding to so eligible 2^ parti 
as Colonel Stannard was the main topic of conver- 
sation. 

The wonderful trousseau, imported from Paris, was 
talked and talked of ; and happy the girl who, when 
the day drew near, was able to show a card of in- 
vitation to the church. 

The last day of April came at length, the last 
toilets were being hurried home from over-worked 
milliners, and the preparations for the morrow were 
complete. Stannard had brought his horses to the 


250 


THE ILLEGAL MAURI AGE. 


city, and had quarters at the “ Lanier” for himself 
and bachelor friends. Crawford, the “best man,” 
had already arrived from Columbus; Trippe and 
wife drove up from Echaconnee ; and the evening 
train brought Doctor and Mrs. Pierce, Josh Jones, 
Lamar, and several other friends from the towns 
along the railroad, in which Stannard was well 
known. 

Disguise it as he would, Stannard was in a great 
state of trepidation, and in vain he tried to assume 
his usual nonchalance of manner. 

“It’s no use trying to hide it, Stannard,” said 
Ham Pierce, coming out on the balcony where 
Crawford and Stannard were smoking their cigars. 
“Not the least bit of use, for it can’t be done.” 
“You’ve been through it yourself. Ham, and 
ought to know.” 

“ I speak from experience, of course ; but come, 
Stannard, how do you feel to-night?” 

“Now, Ham, ’pon my word, that’s the last ques- 
tion I expected from you. Why, that is what eveiy- 
body says. Peyton, I’d like to know why it is, when 
a fellow is going to be married, that all married 
men attempt to poke fun at him? Of course a 
fellow can’t help being a little nervous about it — 
that is, unless he has as little sensibility as Trippe 
did when he had his head broke.” 

“Ha! ha! ha!” came a hearty laugh behind them, 
and the robust form of Doctor Trippe joined in the 
circle. “That’s it exactly; I never saw the good of 
that affair until now.” 

“Good of it, Trippe, how?” 

^ “It furnished Stannard with a new simile. He’s 
like Dick Swiveller in the use of tropes.” 

“Come, Trippe, don’t you begin to chaff me too.” 
“On the contrary, I came to defend you. This 
is a very serious matter — take notice, Peyton, 
you’ll ” 

“Nonsense, Trippe,” interrupted Stannard, “take 
a cigar and sit down. I want to ask you about old 
Hawks.” 

“ He is dead.” 

“Dead!” exclaimed Crawford, “why I saw some 


THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE. 


251 


one — who was it, I wonder? Doctor Sly, may be; 
anyway. I was told that he was in Columbus.” 

“ He was there, and is there yet — in the cemetery.” 

“You doctors are cool fellows about death ; I must 
say that of you,” said Stannard. 

“ It is one of the events of life, if you’ll allow the 
expression. -Hawks died over a month ago.” 

“Was his daughter with him?” Stannard asked. 

“ He was with her. There was a great change in 
the old man after he came to my house, and finding 
that he was really inclined to do right, I wrote to 
his daughter about him. Mrs. Manning, as she is 
now, had no sooner received the letter than she and 
her husband came up to my place. I feared the old 
man would die from excess of joy. 

“I had given him proper clothing and he looked 
like a very respectable old gentleman — a country 
farmer. 

“Manning spent a few days with me, but having 
to preach on Sunday, they went back on Saturday, 
taking the old man with them. 

“Mary wrote of his death afterward, and Man- 
ning added a postscript to say that the old man had 
a change of heart before he died. I believe he did. 
But for Alfred Guen'y, Hawks might have lived a 
very respectable farmer all his life. It was Guerry’s 
villainy with Mary, and his subsequent weakness, 
that led the old man on in his deviltry.” 

“ And it was the old man who continued to lead 
Guerry astray.” 

“ True, Stannard ; but I think Guerry the worst of 
the two.” 

“It shows how evil disposed persons lead each 
other on to commit crimes,” said Crawford, “and 
we see the same thing in a smaller way, perhaps, 
everv day in our lives.” 

For some time the friends chatted together over 
their cigars; and, at length, forming plans for the 
morrow they sauntered away to their rooms. 

And on this night, Cecy too, was chatting to her 
friends. Yet the conversation was rather around 
her than with her, for she dared not trust herself to 
speak. To her the coming day had terrors of which 


952 


TEE ILLEGAL MAJtBTAGE. 


Stannard knew nothing; for she knew that a thou- 
sand critical eyes would be turned upon her. and 
that every item of her costume would be the subject 
of remark. 

It was late ere Cec3^ could close her e^^es in sleep ; 
yet before the sun came into her chamber window 
on that first of May — the eventful day in the life of 
this fair girl — she was up and ready for her fricmds, 
who seemed to enjoy so much the task of robing her 
for the altar. 

Again and again they had admired her, turning 
her about to catch the varied effects, smoothing a 
fold in her dress, or bending a flower in her wreath, 
until master-hands had performed their work 
complete. 

Cecy’s heart fluttered as she listened to their 
praise and wondered if he, too, would like her ap- 
pearance as well ; but it fluttered still more as she 
heard the carriage at the door, and a minute after 
caught the sound of his step in the hall. 

How grand he looked to her then, as with a quick 
step and his own sweet smile, he came forward to 
greet her! Was he not the hero of her life’s 
romance? 

“You are beautiful, indeed, Cec3%” he whispered 
in her ear. “Oh, my darling, you do not know how 
beautiful you are to me!” 

She took his arm at the door, and a troop of 
bridesmaids and groomsmen gathered around them. 

Again he whispered to her as they Avere driving to 
the church. 

“How beautiful you are, Cecy! I wonder if a 
man could be prouder of a woman than I am of 

vou ?” 

%/ 

What to her were the praises of her friends then? 
The words from his lips were music to her A^ery 
soul ! 

The church was croAvded AAdien thcA^ arrived, and 
side by side they walked up the aisle. And in all that 
congregation there Avas not one who did not call 
her a beautiful bride. 

Her rich white satin robe, her costly laces, her 
rare Avreath of orange flowers, the string of pearls 


THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, 


around her neck, and the pure gems which were 
seen in the folds of her hair, were all objects far 
above the criticism of the sex. 

They were married. Cecy Morgan came from the 
church Cecy Stannard, and in that happy hour the 
trials of her girlhood were forgotten. Was she not 
happy at last? Bridal presents were showered upon 
her; kind friends were crowding around her; her 
wedding had been as brilliant as heart could wish; 
and was she not his wife? 

“No one but Cecy Morgan could have had such a 
wedding,” was a remark that fell from many a 
dainty lip that day, and many a gleaming eye, for 
many a day thereafter, saw pictures in the future 
of a wedding some time to be, no less brilliant, no 
less grand. 

Among the bridal presents was a small packet 
with the name of Lawyer Martin upon it. Cecy 
had slipped it into her pocket when bidding her 
friends adieu, and she had entered the carriage with 
her husband before again remembering the curi- 
osity which this gift had excited. 

“What is it, Cecy?” Stannard asked, as they were 
driving toward the castle, and she hastily broke the 
seal to ascertain. 

A few pieces of paper fell into her lap. 

“ What can it be?” she said, running her eye over 
the words ; but in a moment she looked up into her 
husband’s face. 

It was the torn will. 

“It is as he wished,” she said, faintly, as she 
leaned upon her husband’s manly breast, and bowed 
low her head to hide from him the tears of joy that 
would roll, in great pearly drops, from her glisten- 
ing eyes. 

sit ♦ ^ ^ 

Some years have passed since the Echaconnee 
tragedy occurred, and of the actors in the drama 
then enacted — some are scattered about the world, 
and some are dead. 

Ham Pierce, as true a man as ever lived, Martin, 
the honest attorney; Peyton Crawford, rich, gifted, 
and handsome as a god ; and pretty Mary Hawks, 


254 


TEE ILLEGAL MAERIAGR 


all sleep beneath the sod. Trippe has removed to a 
city in the interior where he is well-known and 
respected ; Appling is a detective in New York city; 
and Cecy Stannard, with her husband and her chil- 
dren, still lives in the old castle. 

But one yet remains — one whose life and death 
were stormy — a weak man, capable of better things 
had circumstances been more favorable ; one whose 
life was like “Sweet bells Jangled, harsh and out of 
tune;” one who had the sympathy of all; one who 
made a bad use of his life. 

Yet, but for that one youthful error, who can say 
that he would not have been both great and good. 
“It might have been” — are they not sad words? 

Near the Echaconnee church there is one plain 
slab of white marble, half hidden by grasses, upon 
which one may read these words : 

“ Lost in a storm at Sea, 

ALFRED GUERRY, 

2d vears.” 

Although he does not rest beneath this slab, 
Alfred Guerry is not forgotten ; for often one finds 
a wreath of fiowers upon the stone, evidently 
wrought by a woman’s hand, showing that one, at 
least, remembers him as an actor in “Cecy Morgan’s 
Trial.” 

[the end.] 


^^A STRANGE PILGRIMAGE,” by Mrs. J. H. Wal- 
worth, will be published in the next number (62) of The 
Select Series. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 

By NEIL BURGESS. 

Written from the celebrated play no\r 
running its second continuous season in 
New York, and booked to run a jhird sea- 
son in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our “Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

^^THE COUNTY FAIR” will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 
town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, v ith the same unique 
characters, the same graphic scenes, but 
with the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than was 
possible in the brief limits of a dramatic representation. This touch- 
ing story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought or suggestion. Read the following 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 

Mr. Neil Burgess has rewTitten his play, “The County Fair,” in story form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going the memory and imagination of those who have seen the 
latter and whet the appetite for the rest of this lively conception of a live dramatist.— 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York for a long time the general 
public out of town may be glad to learn that the playwright has imt the piece into print 
in the form of a storj\ A tale based upon a play may sometimes lack certain literary 
qualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
tunately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful — A'. Y. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. The 
latest book of this description is a story rei>rodu(ung the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ {>lay, “The County Fair.” The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, follows closely the hnes of the drama in 
story and \Aoi.—Chicaao Daily Xews. 

Mr. Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair.” has been received with such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It will 
be enjqj’ed even by those who have never heard the plaj"^ and still more by those who 
have.— Cincinnati IHmes-Star. 

This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and iuterestinf.- in every part, without the introduction of 
an impure thought or suggestion.— A Press. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name and is an affecting and vivid story of domestic life, joy and 
sorrow, and rural scenes.— San Francisco Call. 

This romance is written from the play of this name and is fuU of touching incidents. 
—Evansville JourTUtl. 

It is founded on the popular play of the same name, in which Neil Burgess, who is 
also the author of the story, has achieved the dramatic success of the season.— jFaK 
River Herald. 

T71XO Oooxxx’t'V t' isNo. ,S3 of “The Select Series,” for 

gale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 25 cents, to any 
address, postpaid, by STREET & SMITH, Pub^hers, 25-31 Rose st,, New York,^ 



DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD/ 


SXBEEI & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES No. 23. 


.Price, 25 Oents. 


Some Ooiuions of the Press* 

** As the probabilities are remote of the play * The Old nomestead ’ being 
Been anywhere but in large cities it is only fair that the story of the piece should 
be printed. Like most stories written from plays it contains a great deal which. 
Is not said or done on the boards, yet It is no more verbose than such a story 
should be. and It gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tlldy, 
Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mythical Bill Jones, the slierlff and all the other char- 
acters are here, beside some new ones. It Is to be hoped tnat the book will make 
a large sale, not only on Its merits, but that other play owners may feel encour- 
aged to let their works be read by the many thousands who cannot hope to see 
them on the stage.”— iV. F. Herald, June 2d. 

" Denman Thompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ Is a story of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerat' d home; of a grand old man, honest and blunt, who 
loves his honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned in 
learning of the deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country life, love 
and jealousy, without an Impure thought, and with the healthy flavor of the 
fields In every chapter. It Is founded on Denman Thompson s drama of ‘The 
Old Homestead.’ A. F. Press, May 26th. 

" Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New YorTc WeeTUy, have brought 
out In book-form the story of • The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Mr. Denman Thompson, has met with such wondrous success. It will proba- 
bly have a great sale, thus Justifying the foresight of the publishers in giving the' 
drama this permanent Action form.”~j.V. F. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

“ The popularity of Denman Thompson’s play of • The Old Homestead’ has 
encouraged street & Smith, evidently with his permission, to publish a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set In the same scenes and including the same charac- 
ters and more too. The book is a fair match for the play In the simple good taste 
and real ability with which it is written. The publishers are Street & Smith, and 
they have gotten the volume up in cheap popular form.”— A. F. Graphic, May 29. 

“Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ Is familiar, at least by rep- 
Utatlon, to every piay-goer in the country. Its truth to nature and its simple 
pathos have been admirably preserved in this story, which is founded upon it 
and follows its Incidents closely. The requirements of the stag make the action 
a little hurried at times, but the scenes described are brought before the mind’s 
eye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life in the little New Eng- 
land town is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the play can get an 
excellent Idea of what It Is like from the book. Both are free from sentlmentahtr 
and sensation, and are remarkably healthy in tone ^—Albany Express. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old Homestead' has been put into story -torm ana \s is- 
sued by Street & Smith. The story will somewhat explain to those who have not 
seen it the great popularity of the p\a.y."— Brooklyn Times, June 8th. 

“The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ is world-wide. 
Tens of thousands have enjoyed it, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
they took In its representation. This is the story told in narrative form as well 
as it was told on the stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they h ?“9 seen the 
play or not.”— iVafioriaZ Tribune, Washington, D, C. 

“Here we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the 
peaked roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear old Swanzey, and 
the story which, dramatized, has packed the largest theater in New York and 
has been a success everywhere because of its true and sympathetic touches ol 
nature. All the Incidents which have held audiences spell bound are here re- 
corded— the accusation of robbery directed against the innocent boy, his shame, 
and leaving home; the dear old Aunt Tilda, who has been courted for thirty 
years by the mendacious Cy Prime, who has never had the courage to propose : 
the fall of the country boy Into the temptations of city life, and his recovery by 
the good old man who braves the metropolis to find him. The story embodies ^ 
that the play tells, and all that It suggests as well.”— JYarisos CUn Joumai , . 


BERTHA M. CLAY’S 

Xjj^^THJST 

Copyright Novels, 

I3ST 

TilE Select Series. 


Fx*loe, 25 Oexxts 3E3£icla.a ' 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED, 


No. 22.-A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 

No. 28.-A HEART’S IDOL. 

No. 36.-THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER. 
No. 37.-IN LOVES CRUCIBLE. 

No. 39.-MARJORIE DEANE. 

TLese novels are amongf tLe best ever writ- 
ten by BERTHA M. CLAY, and are enjoying 
an enormous sale. Tbey are copyrighted and 
can be had only in THE SELECT SERIES. 


For «ale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

P. O. Box 2734. ^ ^ 81 Bose Street, New Tork. 


Mrs. Georgie Sheldon’s 


Copyright Novels, 

iisr 

The Select Series. 


Fx*lce;«tS5 Oexi.1;s ^a.clx. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 16-SIBYL’S INFLUENCE. 

No. 24-THAT DOWDY. 

No. 43-TRIXY. 

No. 44-A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

These novels, from the pen of our gifted au- 
thor, who writes exclusively for us, are among 
her most popular productions, and hold the front 
rank in first-class literature. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to* any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

P. 0. Box 2734. 31 Bose Street, New 


THE SELECT SERIES 

OP 

POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT STORIES. 

No. 60— WON ON THE HOMESTRETCH, by Mrs. M. 0. Williams 25 

No. 59— WHOSE WIFE IS SHE? by Annie Lisle 26 

No. 58 — EILDHURM’S OAK, by Julian Hawthorne 25 

No. 57— STEPPING-STONES, by Marion Harland 25 

No. 56— THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT, by Mary A. Denison 26 

No, 55— ROXY HASTINGS, by P. HamUton Myers 25 

No. 54 — THE FACE OF ROSENFEL, by C. H. Monta£nie 25 

No. 53— THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 52— TRUE TO HERSELF, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 25 

No. 51— A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S SIN, by Hero Strong 25 

No. 50 — MARRIED IN MASK, by Mansfield Tracy Walworth 25 

No. 49-GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 48-THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE, by A. M. Douglas 25 

No. 47— SADIA THE ROSEBUD, by Julia Edwards : 25 

No. 46 — A MOMENT OF MADNESS, by Charles J. Bellamy 25 

No. 45— WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, by Charlotte M. Brame 25 

No. 44— A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 43 — TRIXY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 42 — A DEBT OF VENGEANCE, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 25 

No. 41— BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 40 — AT A GIRL'S MERCY, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 39— MARJORIE DEANE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 38— BEAUTIFUL, BUT POOR, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 37— IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 36— THE GIPSY'S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 35— CECILE’S MARRIAGE by Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

No. 84 — THE LITTLE WIDOW, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 33 — THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess 25 

No. 32— LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma G. Jones 25 

No. 31— MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 25 

No. 30— PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 29 — THE HEIRESS OF EGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis 25 

No. 28— A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 27— WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas 25 

No. 26— FONTELROY, by Francis A. Durivage 25 

No. 25— THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 25 

No. 24— THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 23— DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD 25 

No. 22 — A HEART'S BITTERNESS, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 21 — THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta 25 

No. 20— INGOMAR, by Nathan D. Urner 25 

No. 19— A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mrs. Mary A. Denison 25 

No, 18— ROSAMOND, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 25 

Ho, 17 — THE HOUSE OF SECRETS, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis 25 

jfo, 16— SYBIL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 15— THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by Mrs. May Agnes Fleming 25 

No. 14— FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Burke Brentford 25 

No. 13— THE BRIDE-ELECT, by Annie Ashmore 25 

These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well bound, and 
In handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

J26 to 31 Bose Street, New York* 


P. 0. Box 2734. ' 


OF 


POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT NOVELS, 

BY NOTABLE AUTHORS. 


THE 




1 

J 



FLW: 


OR, 


THE WEAVER’S WAR. 

By PROFESSOR WM. HENRY PECK, 

AUTHOR OP 

“Marlin Marduke,” “£15,000 Reward,” “Siballa, 

the Sorceress,” etc. 


From the very opening paragraph this powerful and Intensely exciting 
romance eucnains the attention and keeps curiosity constantly active. The 
scene opens in the manufacturing center of Lyons, during a troublesome 
I)eriod in her history, wlien the laboring classes strove to maintain their 
rights against the nobility. The hero, whom fate has made an humble 
workman, finds opportunity for the display of those self-asserting qualities, 
which always force their possessor to the front in every contest. While 
most of the action is thrilling and dramatic, a captivating love episode is 
adroitly interwoven with the main thread of the romance. The mystecf 
appertaining to the early life of the Locksmith, the appalling accusation 
which makes him the victim of unseen foes, his fortitude in the most trying 
jmsitions, and his final vindication and reward, are forcibly and sympatheti* 
oally set forth in this well constructed story. 


PRICE, 25 CENTS. 


STEEET & SMITH, Publishers, 

1 2T34. ^ . « ROSE STBEBT, T.A, : 


BEN HAMED; 

OR, 

THE CHILDKEN OF FATE. 

By STLVANUS COBB, Jr. 

Sireet& Smith’s Sea and Shore Series, No.8. 

Oezxts. 


WHAT THE PRESS SAY OP IT, 


•*Ben Hained” Is an Oriental romance by Sylvanns Cobb, which recalls 
the delightful stories of the “Arabian Nights,” without tlieir suiier natural 
erfects. Indeed, our old friend Haiouu Ai Kaschid figures prominently in 
this work, and is closely identified with the hero and lier<»iiie— the devoted 
Assad and the fair Morgiana. It is a romance of pure love, with an in- 
genious and cleverly sustained plot .— Rapids Democrat, Aug. ;f. 

“Ben Hamed” is the title of an Oriental romance not unlike the stories of 
the “Arabian Nights.” It is a romance of pure love. A number of strong 
characters combine with the hero and heroine in the solution of an ingenious 
Harrisburg Patriot, July 23. 

Street & Smith of New York have published “Ben Hamed; or, The Chil- 
dren of Fate,” by Sylvanns Cobb, ,Tr., which is No. 8 of the Ska ani> Suokb 
Series. This book is an Oriental romance, which recalls the “Aral'ian 
Nights,” without their supernatural effects. The plot is ingenious and well 
sustained, and brings out a romance of pure love in a chariniug manner.— 
■~Sau Francisco Mohiing Call, July 21. 




“Ben Hamed” is an Oriental romance by Sylvanns Cobb, Jr., published in 
aper by Street & Smith, New York city. It is clever in the way thaf all of 
lobb’s stories are cld'fQV.— Indianapolis News, July 20. 

“Ben Hamed Is a capital story, progressive in action, interesting from 
the opening line, and with a charming love romance, on which are strung 
many remarkable incidents . — Acton Star, July 21. 

A cavMial storv of Eastern life, which must have been suggested by a 
nernsal of the “Arabian Nights,” is Sylvanns Cobb’s Oriental narrative of 
‘^en Hamed; or. The Children of Fate.” It is admirabl}- told, full of in- 
terest, and cannot fail to charm all who begin its perusaL — JfOKf ana 
Sun, Sept. 22. 

Street A Smith, of the New York Weekly, have published “Ben 
Hamed, or. The Children of Fate,” by Sylvanns Cobb. Jr. This is an 
Oriental romance, accentuated by a very strong and ingenious plot.— Ni. 
Paul Pixmecr Press, July 21. 

Street & Smith, New York, publish in paper covers “Ben Hatned,” an 
Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls the delightful stories of 
the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural eflfects.” — OincinnaW 
Enquirer. 

“Ben Hamed.” an Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, Is published by 
Street & Smith, New York. It is one of Cobb’s characteristic rornances, 
Haroun Al Raschid being a prominent figure. There is nothing strain^ of 
unnatural in “Ben Hamed,” it recalling the stories of the “Arabian Nighta,” 
Without their supeniatural effects,— ifwwieapoii# Tr^ime, J uly 2L 




THE SEA A1 SHOl SERIES. 


Stories of Strange Adventure Ashore and Afloat. 


Ko. 23-BUFFALO BILL’S BEST SHO , hy Ned Buntline. 

No. 22-THE STRUGGLE FOR MAVERICK, by J. F. lilts. 
No. 21— ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM, by Burke Brentford. 

No. 20-THE HOUSE OF SILENCE, by Dr. J. H. Robinson. 

No. 19-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S TRAIL, by Alex. Robert- 
son, M. D. 

No. 18— THE YANKEE CHAMPION, by Sylvanus Cobb., Jr, 

No. 17— FEDORA, from the famous play of the same name, by 
Victorien Sardou. 

No. 16-SIBALLA, THE SORCERESS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 15— THE GOLDEN EAGLE, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. U-THE FORTUNE-TELLER OF NEW ORLEANS, by Prof. 
Win. H. Peck. 

No. 13-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO ABROAD, by Alex. Rob- 
ertson, M.D. 

No. 12-HELD FOR RANSOM, by Lieut. Murray. 

No. 11-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S SEARCH, by Alex. 
Robertson, M, D. 

No. 10— LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 9— THE MAN IN BLUE, by Mary A, Denison. 

No, 8— BEN HAMED, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 7-CONFESSIONS OF LINSKA. 

No. 6— THE MASKED LADY, by Lieutenant Murray, 

No. 5— THEODORA, fi’om the celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 4-THE LOCKSMITH OF LYONS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 3-THE BROWN PRINCESS, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

No. 2— THE SILVER SHIP, by Lewis Leon. 

No. 1-AN IRISH MONTE CRISTO. 

For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, postage 
FREE, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of price, 
25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET cfe SMITH, 

25-31 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. 


P. O. BOX 2734. 


The Primrose Edition 

OF 

COPYRIGHT NOVELS. 


Issued Monthly. 50 Cents. 


No. I-ANOTHER MAN’S WIFE, by Bertha M. Clay. 

Another Man’s Wife.— This is one of Bertha M. Clay’s most effective stories It 
forcibly and iinpressibly portrays the evils certain to attend matrimonial deceit, clan- 
destine interviews, and an the tricks and devices which imperil a wife’s honor. It has a 
entranciiiKly interesting plot, and abounds in vivid and dramatic incidents. 
It IS the first issue of Street & Smith’s Primrose Edition of Copyright Novels, and it 
will not apiiear elsewhere.— Freeman. 

No. 2-THE BELLE OF THE SEASON, by Mrs. 
Harriet Lewis. 

The Belle of the Season.— This is a gracefully told love storj', by Mrs. Harriet 
Lewis, abounding in dramatic action and extremely captivating incidents. The plot is 
a maiwel of ingenuit.v, not at all extravagant, and the love scenes are very spiritedly de- 
picted. The reader must admire the adroit manner in which the hero and heroine, after 
innumerable trials, temptations, and misunderstandings, overcome all obstacles to their 
union, and recognize each other’s worth. There is an undendot of deep interest which 
entrances the charm of romance, and every chapter develops novel and unexpected 
features. “The Belle of the Season” is one of Mrs. Lewis’ most entrancing works, and 
is likely to have a large sale.— Pittsburg Leader. 

No. 3-DOCTOR JACK, by St. George Rathborne. 

Doctor Jack.— A novel, by St. George llathbome, is an intensely interesting and 
highly dramatic modern story of an \merican’s adventures in sunny Spain and Oriental 
Turkey. The scenes are rapid in their action, and yet the reader is given entrancing 
glimiises of p(m painted scenery along the way that charm the senses. It will be con- 
ceded on all sides that the author’s graphic description of the bull fight at Madrid is the 
most powerful ever printed ; while the events connected with the great Spanish carnival 
must ever remain a pleasant recollection to the reader. We i>redict for “Doctor Jack” a 
sale unequaled sine e the publication of “ IMr. Barnes of New York.” The volume is 
handsomely gotten up, in attractive cover.— Herald. 

No. 4-KATHLEEN DOUGLAS, by Julia Truitt Bishop. 

Kathleen Douglas.— Like the plot of an artfyilly constructed play is this cleverly 
told romance, by Julia Truitt Bishoj), of love and mystery. It is the story of a cruelly 
suspected yet innocent wife, against whom suspicions are aroused and disseminated by 
a rejected wooer— a man w'ith the outward semblance of a saint, yet who conceals the 
heart of an insatiate wretch. The interest is heightened and artistically sustained by 
making the daughter an inheritor of her mother’s supposed disgrace. The golden thread 
of a pleasing love episode is intertwined with the tragic element of the romance, and 
from the opening to the close the reader never loses sight of the heroine, the long-suffer- 
ing but eventually rewarded Kathleen Douglas. 

No. 5-HER ROYAL LOVER, by Ary Ecliaw. 


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No. 2-THE WAY TO DANCE. 

No. 3-THE WAY TO DO MAGIC. 

No. 4-THE WAY TO WRITE LETTERS. 

No. 5-HOW TO BEHAVE IN SOCIETY. 

No. 6-AMATEUR’S MANUAL OF PHOTOGRAPHY. 

No. 7-OUT-OF-DOOR SPORTS. 

No. 8-HOW TO DO BUSINESS. 

No. 9-THE YOUNG GYMNAST. 

No. 10-THE HUNTER AND ANGLER. 

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No. 12-THE TAXIDERMIST’S MANUAL. 

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The Secret Service Series. 


Ho. 3G-THE GREAT TRAVERS CASE, by Dr. Mark Merrick. 
No. 35-MUERTALMA; OR, THE POISONED PIN, by Mar- 
inaduke Dey. 

No. 31-DETECTIVE BOB BRIDGER, by R. M. Taylor. 

No. 33— OLD SPECIE, by Alexander Robertson, M. D. 

No. 32-ADVENTURES AND EXPLOITS OF THE YOUNGER 
BROTHERS, by Henry Dale. 

No. 31-A CHASE ROUND THE WORLD, by Mariposa Weir. 
No. 30-GOLD-DUST DARRELL, by Burke Brentford. 

No. 29-THE POKER KING, by Marline Manly. 

No. 28-BOB YOUNGER’S FATE, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 27-THE REVENUE DETECTIVE, by Police Captain James. 
No. 26-UNDER HIS THUMB by Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 25-THE NAVAL DETECTIVE’S CHASE, by Ned BuntUne. 
No. 2I-THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE, by Leauder P. Rich- 
ardsoii. 

No. 23-A MYSTERIOUS CASE, by K. F. HiU. 

No. 22-THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE, by Oscar Maitland. 

No. 21— THE AMERICAN MARQUIS, by Nick Carter. 

No. 20-THE MYSTERY OF A MADSTONE, by K. F. Hill. 

No. 19-THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW, by Tony Pastor. 
No. 18-A WALL STREET HAUL, by Nick Carter. 

No. 17 -THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL, by Nick Carter. 

No. IG-THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE, by Clayton W. Cobb. 
No. 15— TOM AND JERRY, by Tony Pastor. 

No. 14-THE DETECTIVE’S CLEW, by ^‘Old Hutch.” 

No. 13— DARKE DARRELL, by Frank H. Stauifer. 

No. 12— THE DOG DETECTIVE, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 11— THE MALTESE CROSS, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 10-THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE, by Geo. W. Goode. 
No. 9— OLD MORTALITY, byloung Baxter. 

No. 8— LITTLE LIGHTNING, by Police Captain Janies. 

No. 7— THE CHOSEN MAN, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. G— OLD STONEWALL, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 5— THE MASKED DETECTIVE, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 4- THE TWIN DETECTIVES, by K. F. HiU. 

No. 3- VAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE, by ^‘Old 
Sleuth.” 

No. 2-BRUCE ANGELO, by ‘^Old Sleuth.” 

No. 1-BRANT ADAMS, by ^^Old Sleuth.” 

For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, postage 
rEEE, to any address in the United iStates or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & STREET, 

25 to 31 Rose Street, New York. 


P. O. Box 2734. 


The Nugget Library. 


ISSUED EVERY THURSDAY. PRICE, 5 GENTS EACH. 


No. 80-McGINTY’S DOUBLE, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 29— SMART ALECK »WAT DOWN EAST, by FranK. 

No. 28-McGINTY’S CHRISTENING, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 27— McGINTY’S BOARDING-HOUSE, by Cornelius Shea 
No. 26— HIS ROYAL NIBS, by John F. Cowan. 

No. 25— SMART ALECK IN BOSTON, by Frank. 

No. 24— BILLY MAYNE, THE SHARPER, by Walter Fenton. 

No. 23— McGINTY’S TWINS, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 22- PHIL AND HIS TORPEDO BOAT, by Harry St. George. 

No. 21-McGINTY’S GAMBOLS, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 20-THE MYSTERY AT RAHWAY, by Chester F. Baird, 

No. 19-STANLEY’S BOY COURIER, by The Old Showman. 

No. 18-DIAMOND DICK’S CLAIM, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 17-DIAMOND DICK’S DEATH TRAIL, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 16-DASHING DIAMOND DICK, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 16-SMART ALECJK ON HIS TRAY ELS, by Frank. 

No. 14-SMART ALECK’S SUCCESS, bj Frank. 

No. 13-THE SEARCH FOR CAPTAIN klDD, by Col Juan Lewis. 

No. 12-MECHINET, THE FRENCH DEIECTIVE, by Francis A. Durlvage. 

No. 11— BOSS OF LONG HORN CAMP; or, A Fortune for a Ransom, by A. 0 

Monson. 

No. 10— BASE-BALL BOB ; or, The King of the Third Base, by Edward T. 
Taggard (Paul Pryor). 

No. 9-YOUNG SANTEE, THE BOOTBLACK PRINCE ; or, The Boy Wizard of 
the Bowery, by Raymond Clyde. 

No. 8— NED HAMILTON ; or. The Boys of Bassington School, by Fletcher Cowan, 
No, 7— THE CRIMSON TRAIL ; or. On Custer’s Last YVar-Path, by Buft’alo Bill 

No. 6— THE FLOATING ACADEMY ; or. The Terrible Secrets of Doctor Switchem’ 8 
School-Ship, by Dash Dale. 

No. 6-NIMBLE NIP, THE C.YLL-BOY OP THE OLYMPIC THEATER, by John 
A. Mack. 

No. 4 — THE GAYEST BOY IN NEYY YORE; or, Adventures by Gaslight, by 

Dash Kingston. 

No. 8— BOUNCER BROWN ; or. He YVas Bound to Find His Father, by Com- 
modore Ah-Look. 

No. 2— UNDER THE GULP ; or. The Strange Voyage of the Torpedo Boat, by 

Harry St. George. 

No. 1— SMART ALECK ; or, A Crank’s Legacy, by Frank. 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, post* 
paid, on receipt of price, g cents cacli^ by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

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The Log Cabin Library. 


Issued Every Thursday. Price, 10 Cents Each. 


No. 6.1-rOONSKlN, THE SCOUT, by Duke Cuyler. 

No. 52- RAZZLE-DAZZLE DICK, by Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 51-JE.NME, THE TELEGRAPH OPERATOR, by R. M. Taylor, 

No. 6D-KRANK AM) JESSE JAMES lA' MEXICO, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 49-THE YOUNGER BROTHER’S VOW, by Jack Sharp. 

No. 48-THE OCEAN DETECTIVE, by Richard J. Storms. 

No. 47-THE BLACK RIDERS OF SANTOS, by Eugene T. Sawyeti 
No. 46— GOTHAiM BY GASLIGHT, by Dan McGinty. 

No. 45-MOUNTAIN TOM, by Ned Buntliue. 

No. 44 -PIGTAIL DEMONS, by Harry Temple. 

No. 43- RED RUBE BCRROWS, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 42-THE HATFIELD-McCOY VENDETTA, by W. B. LaW 80 H 
No. 41-THE STONY POINT TRAGEDY, by A. L. Fogg. 

No. 40- THE GREAT RIVER MYSTERY, by Bartley Campbefl. 

No. 39- BARNACLE BACKSTAY, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 38-ALF, THE CHICAGO JPORT, by Edward Mintum. 

No. 37-CY, THE RANGER, by Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 

No. 30 -HIS HIGHEST STAKE, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 35— BOB SINGLETON, by David Lowry. 

No. 34-KENTUCKY KATE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 33-THE ROAD AGENTS, by Leander P. Richardson. 

No. 32- RAMON ARANDA, THE CALIFORNU DETECTIVE, by Engene T. 
Sawyer. 

No. 31-THE HUMAN VAMPIRE, by K. F. Hill. 

No. 30-SHADOW ED AND TRAPPED ; or, Ilarrj the Sport, by Ned Buntline. 
No. 29-THE LIGHTS O’ GOTHAM, by Ralph Royal. 

No. 28-THE GREAT YACHT RACE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 27-JACK, THE PEEPER, by Harry Temple. 

No. 26 -HUGO, THE FIGHTER, by William H. BuslmelL 

No. 25- HARROW, THE FLOATING DETECTIVE, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 24-THE SHANGHAIER OF GREENWICH STREET, by Henry Deerlng. 

No. 23-PHENOMENAL PAUL, THE WIZARD PITCHER OP THE LEAGUE, by 
John Warden. 

No. 22-OLD MAN HOWE, by Wm. O. Stoddard. 

No. 21— CATTLE KATE, by Lieutenant Carlton. 

No. 20-CUISEPPE, THE WEASEL, bv Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 19-LOUISVlLLE LUKE, THE JOCKEY WONDER, by Jack Howard. 

No. 18-THE OYSTER PIRATES, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 17-SILVER MASK, by Delta Calaveras. 

No. 16-THE JOHNSTOWN HERO, by Marline Manly. 

No. 15-THE GREAT CRONIN MYSTERY, by Mark Merrick, Esq. 

No. 14-DIAMOND DICK IN ARIZONA, by Delta Calaveras. 

No. 13-HARRY LOVELL, THE GENTLEMAN RIDER, by Sherwood Stanley. 
No. 12-THE MINER DETECTIVE, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 11-THE OKLAHOMA DETECTIVE, by Old Broadbrim. 

No. 10-THE GOLD-HUNTER DETECTIVE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 9-THE IRISH JUDAS; or. The Great Conspiracy Against Parnell, by 
Clarence Clancool. 

No. 8-BILL TREDEGAR, A Tale of the Moonshiners, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 7-THE PINERY DEN DETECTIVE, bv Mark Merrick, Esq. 

No. 6-CAPTAIN KATE, by T.eander P. Richardson. 

No. 6 -THE WHITE CAP DETECTIVE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 4-JESSE, THE OUTLAW, A Story of the James Boys, by Captain Jake 
Shackleford. 

No. 3-SEVEN PICKED MEN, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 2-THE KEWANEE BANK BOBBERY, by J. K, Musick. 

No. 1— THE W'HITE CAPS, by Marline Manly. 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, posti 
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P, O. BOX 8734. 26-3' RCSE STREET, NEW YORK. 



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No. 60— WON ON THE HOMESTRETCH, by Mrs. M. C. Williams 25 

No. 59— WHOSE WIFE IS SHE? by Annie Lisle 25 

No. 53 — KILDHURM’S OAK, by Julian Hawthorne 25 

No. 57 — STEPPING-STONES, by Marion Harland 25 

No. 56— THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT, by Mary A. Denison 25 

No. 55 — ROXY HASTINGS, by P. Hamilton Myers 25 

No. 54— THE FACE OF ROSENFEL. by C. H. Montague..!.”. 25 

No. 53— THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, by Jean Kate Ludlum 23 

No. 52— TRUE TO HERSELF, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 2.3 

No. 51— A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S SIN, by Hero Strong 23 

No. 50— MARRIED IN MASK, by Mansfield Tracy Walworth 25 

No. 49-GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 23 

No. 48-THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE, by A. M. Douglas 25 

No. 47 — SADIA THE ROSEBUD, by Julia Edwards 23 

No. 4G-A MOMENT OF MADNESS, by Charles J. Bellamy 25 

No. 45— WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, by Charlotte M. Brame ,... 23 

No. 44-A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, by Mrs. Georgia Sheldon 25 

No. 43 — TRIXY, by Mrs. Georgia Sheldon 25 

No. 42— A DEBT OF VENGEANCE, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 25 

No. 41— BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 43 — AT A GIRL'S MERCY, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 39— MARJORIE DEANE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 33 — BEAUTIFUL, BUT POOR, by Julia Edwards 23 

No. 37— IN LOVE'S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 38— THE GIPSY'S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 35— CECILE’S MARRIAGE by Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

No. 34 — THE LITTLE WIDOW, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 33 — THE COUNTY FAIR by Neil Burgess 25 

No. 32— LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma G. Jones 25 

No. 31— MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 25 

No. 30— PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 29 -THE HEIRESS OF EGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis 25 

No. 23 -A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 27— WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas ‘23 

No. 26 -FONTELROY, by Francis A. Durivage 23 

n1 25— the KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr ‘25 

No. 24— THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgia Sheldon ‘23 

No. 23— DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD ‘25 

No. 22— A HEART’S BITTERNESS, by Bertha M. Clay ‘25 

No. 21— THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta ‘23 

No. 20— INGOMAR, by Nathan D. Urner ‘25 

No. 19— A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mrs. Mary A. Denison ‘2.3 

No. 13— ROSAMOND, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller ‘25 

No. 17 — THE HOUSE OF SECRETS, by Mrs, Harriet Lewis ‘25 

No. 16— SYBIL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgia Sheldon ‘23 

No. 15— THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by Mrs. May Agnes Fleming 2.3 

No. 14 -FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Burke Brentford 23 

No. 13— THE BRIDE-ELECT, by Annie Ashmore ‘25 

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